Chronos

You left no space untouched, uneaten.

Sliding the knife like a zipper from anus

to the base of the jaws, you opened

the fish, you went in headfirst, biting

eggs from their bed. It’s caviar, you said,

it’s gravy. What a stroke of luck, what wild

fortune, O string of globes found in the folds.

You went in and your flannel was silver

with scales, and when you arose the fish

was upon your shoulders, the hybrid father

of the riddle, waving the thin knife,

you worked the hinge of the jaw

pretending to offer of yourself: Eat me,

the fish says, or I you. The fish in pursuit,

its callused hands outstretched, bringing

the threatening roe to my mouth: eat, eat,

the rank ocean bursts on my tongue. It only feels

like a choice, I tell myself, tightening your watch

on my wrist, looking in the glass: I am

wearing your head, watching my hands

zipping up your jacket. When I scattered

sand of your flesh, the sea was gone

a moment, a million years.