Icthyosis

it isn't too far up the beaches,

fins thrashing layers of the water

fore-bearers in the weathered rocks

no account to the nature of moving air

the wryness of churning water

how it's darkness bellows

as it pushes onto the sands quickly

dragging creak of buoyant wreckage

passing for it's drawling voice

what makes wind, makes the waves

it breaks ships, it combs deserts

pulls down the sky, bends the forest

brings rains like a brute treasure

and you can't hear it now, but

some of the fishes aspire to fly

if only for a spell