by Sanjana K., 16

fisherman drops pole into
silver waters. sees the night
breathe, shallow shapes
finding their way through
the dark, the crystals
scattered underneath
the aroma of fragrant pines
and perfumed night-lilies,
the rhythm of a planet’s body
held against the stars.
the line tugs; he pulls out his
dipped cord, brings out emblems
of the past. long-forgotten
illusions of dynasties,
the corpse of a salmon’s
movements from its journey,
the roe that sit like swirling
pebbles, jewel-encrusted,
each one promising the
renewal of sound in these
enclosed mirrors.
New York City, New York