Without teeth, without
even an armor of scales
you slipped into life
squirming slick and white,
in a body easily seduced by metal.
Blades often bite at you,
your fins are always tattered.
We try to make up for your fishy luck.
You try to teach me the allure
of lures and twine whistling
unraveling, traveling the length of the wind.
But my mind only prowls
the banks in restless pacing,
watching you in water,
unwilling to get wet.
I try to keep my knives polite for you
try to never swipe unsheathed,
to bat only with padded paws
and speak with a gentling mouth.
I love the thinness of your skin.
I marvel at the waters you breathe.
You travel in currents of kindness
and hover motionless and wise where
I would struggle and be drowned.