The blank surface wakes to a slow roil of lips and flanks

as the carp rise from suspension.
From bridge-height it’s a blistering that suddenly stretches whale-wide

and moves with one brain, many mouthed.
I have seen koi meander skewbald in dimpled pools

in light French rain,

and purse coyly at a scatter of crumbs on the algal meadow

of an Indian step well.
Now I am taught that they are unbeautiful,

feral and mud-breathed.
Yet as the warmth hits, they are lit, ecstatic, metallic,

squirming for purchase in a silt-yellow column of light.