After ecologist Monica Gagliano
Six months she swam in the sea,
immersed in a school of fish.
The tiniest things, they would come
to study her as well.
Six months the sea swam in her,
and at the study’s end
she came to collect the fish
as scientific specimen.
That last day the fish did not come,
divining her plan despite
the tiniest brains; they were through
imagining she was their friend.
Dogs, we know, even old ones,
can be taught to salivate
at the prompt of a ringing bell.
They learn to associate food
with that concomitant bell,
and soon the bell means food
instead of kibble itself.
It’s a mouth-watering dodge.
Garden variety peas,
too, can likewise be taught
to bend at their slender waists
when a gentle breeze blows:
blow, and glow a blue hue,
a wavelength of light peas love,
and they learn to expect that light.
Whether or not it comes…
I dreamed once
that a good friend
was engaged,
and I was her
groom’s best man.
The cad, I knew,
was a fraud,
chum though he was.
But my friend
was in love.
I knew that she
would not listen
to warnings
about his character.
In the wake
of rehearsal
the wedding
party broke
up. As
the bride
with her maids
retired behind
a curtained door
she caught my eye,
smiled,
and winked.
I woke disturbed.
She and I
had not spoken
for months.
A veil of dread
followed me
through the day.
Later I checked
my friend’s blog
and found her
indeed engaged.
My foreboding
did not abate,
yet I dashed
off a text
Congratulations
to which my friend
quickly replied
Hold that thought.
I have broken off
engagement.
I discovered
my fiancee
is a fraud.
I am not sure what to conclude.
She knew nothing about my dream.
Did I bend when she blew, absent light?
Was this the sea swimming in me?
We think we know more than we do:
we don’t expect fish to think;
we don’t conjure that peas can feel;
we don’t dare look to dreams for truth.