Seahorse
       

The coronet is distinctive
as a thumbprint—pressed in ink

it reminds me of an atom waterfall.
I want to know the smallness

of your life—

pectoral, dorsal fins that quaver
you through plankton waves

and zodiacs of jellyfish.
These must be your eggs

of revelation. Do you
and your mate glisten

petite questions to the ocean?
The distilled moon?

Tides pull you in cyclones, tails
curled around sea sticks

holding on for heart's cause—
one eye to the urchin, blooming,

the other to your weightless
darling—in soundless bells

you sleep like that, in kites.
It's gorgeous how you make

your little clan, the zygotes slipped
inside the pouch, his, as if

they were a passed note
or a kiss. Say that's us.

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Copyright © 2018 Lauren Goodwin Slaughter All rights reserved
from a lesson in smallness
The National Poetry Review Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission