i’ve seen them crawl up from the lake
draped in weeds whispering names
and something worse than obscenities

hungry gums flecked with gleaming scales
can’t you hear them march in time the way the mud
slurps with every step

they are coming
they are coming

the faint handprint on the mailbox is no accidental collusion
of rain and grime their urge is senseless and profane and
cannot imagine itself unlonely fishbones consonant their words

you must understand:
i was born a coward
child of fishers who
when the war called
slinked off to the sea
no one warned me
how long the nights could stretch