THE NIXIE

He lies in cool shadows safe under rocks,

His eyes brown stones,

Worn smooth and soft,

But uncrumbled.

He reaches forth covert child-claws

To tickle the silver bellies of the little blind fish

As they swim secretly above him.

He laughs —

The school splinters, panic stricken.

As we stare through the lucid gold water

He gazes up at us from his shadowy retreat

In combative safety.

There are times when he pretends to himself that he is a god,

Water god, land god, god-in-the-sky.

We cannot laugh at his grotesquerie.

We are wistful before the pathetic gallantries of his imagination.