Why Do Fish Jump?

A flicker of translucent tail, arched back
that mimics the lake's bulge as she rises
to meet the moon: his rainbow skin sleek.
A carp, gills aflare and scales golden
in the late sun, bursts up and out, mouth open.
Evolution works like this, a slow building rush,
and then eruption: the fishes' desire to trade
fins for feathers, to skip a step: water to air,
and she will glide on a light gust.

The smell of honeysuckle is strong in the warm air.
Vines fall from native pines and the flowers fill
the marsh with May lust.
Our manipulations are not enough
to undo nature.
Tendrils will reach and roots will eat
our paths and stones.

I am in no such rush to change, impatiently
static in Eden marred.
There is no perfection on earth, nor in air,
nor in the dark domain of slime and scale.