They move under ice as thin as a bible’s paper.

I don’t dare crack it because they seem
Not to move at all.
Isn’t this how it is, after all,

Come December? Wanting to shut down
For awhile and glide a glacial pace, slow

Work and slower heart and slowest
Of loves not sliding by, maybe, until April

Slips inside the lungs, when the koi’s eyes
Widen like irises and their tails wave

Like laundry on the line, their gills healthy gashes
Letting in then out the ice as thin as a bible’s

Paper that’s melted so we can stare at their sway

And forget, awhile, our own slipping away
And waving, even while it’s happening

To each of us this very,
and every, moment.

* * *

An interview with Alexander Long, in Philadelphia Stories.