POOLING WITH THE ILLUMINATI Salmon are not biolumes. Unlike the lanternfish, Radiant in their eyes, They do not Light their own path. Which is a shame When I imagine a parade Across the empty ocean Like a night freeway Pregnant with cars. And I dream the beauty Of an illuminated stream Fat with the trembling fish Each holding its own candle To the dark of the weir. It is we, who light the salmon, In the same way we Anthropomorphize Their frantic dance Past our lines and nets We envision a power, A drive far beyond our own. Even though it is No more intentional to them Than our breath is to us. Still, we envy their parade. And we gawk at their pooling. We cheer as they leap falls That we would never Be able to master. We ascribe no fear of death As if they knew what awaits And we ponder our own voyage With its turns and its digressions, Along a path, unlit, to its end.