No Fish

You held the sea in the palms of your hands

when you said you could keep a fish alive in it

only if you didn’t fall asleep,

only if your fingers never trembled

and caused a leak.

Every time you looked at it, you almost stumbled,

so, you looked ahead and kept walking.

Then you met someone.

He asked to hold your hand.

You told him about the fish,

but he said there was no fish.

Indeed, there was no fish.

It had jumped into the river

and by now had reached the ocean.

You held the sea in the palms of your hands

because you thought it could keep a fish alive.

But what doesn’t swim isn’t a fish.

What doesn’t expand isn’t a world,

but walls of concrete.