“Water”

Listen to Paul Guest reading this poem. How I wanted to graze with my hand the armored hides of sturgeons aslosh in their shallow tanks I did not tell you, nor did I think to say how the garfish, sentry-like in their dull brown orbits, with their pen-shaped snouts skimming food, were named by someone who knew that gar meant spear in Old English. I forgot my place in the story I idly told you, as we rose in the elevator, as your hands found in my neck a knot your fingers could untie with ease. Love, you know that language failed me early with you: in my mouth you found a hidden stammer. In all the days since, what have I said that was right? So little. But know: when we stood on one side of thick glass to watch a world of water ignore our entire lives, I kissed your fingers and each one in that light was blue.