Stingrays are the underwater shadows
of the distant beaches of my childhood:
gliding abysses with dead eyes and clown mouths
below the clear surface and slow gleaming days,
passing back and forth all summer long
and constantly prowling the sand of my dreams.
Species are currents in an ocean of genes –
adapting, evolving, disappearing –
and the interlocking puzzle of my self
has changed since then in ways I cannot see,
but the black shapes of the stingrays still coast
in unchanging, restless eternity.