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William Matthews - Isla Mujeres
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The shoal we saw from the boat was fish; 
it parted as I dove through, and formed 
again overhead, each fish 
like a dancing molecule in a rock. 
On the flight to Merida we came down 
through clouds that looked like brains 
or scrambled eggs, but they were only 
wisps and down we came. I`d swim 
back up a chimney of fish and break, 

already squinting, back into bright air. 
If love is curiosity, I loved those fish. 
Those nights I ate her, she didn`t come 
so much as she would go. 
Her cunt-lather tasted already of memory 
and fever-sped loss, as if I would dream 
again and again -- and I do -- 

of falling through her. Sometimes I dream 
I`m her, she`s me, I`m on my back, she`s eating 
and falling through me, and as I start 
to concentrate and come, my mind 
"wanders," as a teacher would say to chide 
one of our children, half of whose classmates 
come from "broken" homes, should one 
of our children stare too long 
out a window, imagining he could fly.
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