The Koi Pond
At the pond’s edge
the water flows
with symmetry of shoulder blades
on the back of a beautiful woman.
The koi knot like muscles
red as sinew—a sunken barque
in argyric mansions of the Moon.
From the waters God had birthed the world
—a crab ascending the primeval shore.
“From water all the world’s arisen,”
said Thales, reaching for a rope.
No light shed koi
but what is given
darting through the wet reflection
of Mare Insularum.
Is Chandra, too, Kumari Kandam—
a temple strewn with sunken shipping—
a Taos where only Neptune’s children
hear phantasmagoric bells?
Does all creation fit an order
known to Mohists in their sitting
’cause Aristotle’s vaunted ceilings
so high above are as below?
Koi ascend to crumbs of baking,
strewn like stars upon their heaven
—fire dunked into an ocean
extinguished in the gift of life.
Perhaps young Phaeton found his father
was Charon, seized the fateful oar,
and spilt the sun into the waters;
the saprophagous crab was born.
R. Joseph Capet
R. Joseph Capet (www.rjosephcapet.com) is a poet, playwright, and essayist whose work in English and Esperanto has appeared in magazines and journals as diverse as decomP, The Montreal Review, the American Journal of Biblical Theology, and Sennaciulo.