Perhaps We Are

Perhaps we are

The ripples on

A stagnant pond

Underneath the algea;

Like veins within

Your oblique skin.

Perhaps we are.

Perhaps we are

The gaping fish

That gasping slip

And slide back in the water;

Try to taste air

Which is not theirs.

Perhaps we are.

Perhaps we are

Just amateurs

With metaphors

All a size too small;

Can’t comprehend

Our complex ends.

Perhaps we can't.