They flee from me, the lithe and lightning fish,
whom I would catch and dally with and keep,
admiring their embroidery, a dish
of light to make the queen of art’s heart leap.
What tailor’s hand their small scales stitched all tricks
of counterpoint and fugue, as Bach, did know;
with nimble wit fantastic threads he picks
and sets them all in unison aglow.
Not by seasons does the sea change fashions.
Fish clothes are classic, some pre-Jurassic.
On their skins sleek creatures sport their passions.
Some are fierce, some soft, some mock and mimic
This sea, where arts converge, makes light music
and music light, shows lust an ancient kick.