Full Moon Night Dance

On nights of the full moon, the fish rise onto the shore and dance. Some will never return to swim in the depths. On nights of the full moon, through a charcoal-colored haze, like a glowing lantern drifting lightly toward them, The tide is no obstacle, do not fear. It spreads its white wake upon the shore. On nights of the full moon, the gills widen in alertness, fins strike with force, with a shattering sound, their bodies break through the ceiling of water. White flashes like glass leap from scale to scale. On nights of the full moon, the fish dance upon the sand, eyes wide open, and cold oxygen cuts through their bones. Time flows like a river’s mouth. On nights of the full moon, it stops in its orbit and closes its eye behind a dusk-grey cloud. Sand and dust cling to the fishes' skin. The air in their veins is dry and choked. On nights of the full moon, it is upon them to reinvent themselves. Young fry hatch from round eggs, and are swept back with the ebb into the sea. On nights of the full moon, the fish rise onto the shore and dance.