From the Fishouse

the fat dancers in the swimming pool
have learned anything in water is beautiful

and so, in unison, swell their unlikely
movement, spin through atmosphere
that imagines them the lightest of masses.

look at their suspended stomachs bob and sway,
the huge breasts find water’s slow orbit as lap

currents would ripple a crane staked to her own
inevitable lift and soar. they are not unlike her, white

skull caps, arms spread wide as the crane who wings
landscape into a passing canvass. the fat dancers

look at their suspended stomachs, see a worth
expand and float. they gleam in the pool’s sharp
light, reflect the burden of their slick presence.

but the crane, most, understands the lumber
of gravity, the way a body rises in spite of itself.