A sliver of too-intense pink
pushes on toward red.
Unified, the collective floating forest bobs and turns,
streams gracefully with the tide.
Water murmurs, bubbles, laps at the rocks.
Cumulus cotton candy quilts steep islands,
weaving itself amongst trees older
than the boats at harbor
and the buildings on land.
Does Water move Fish,
or does Fish move Water?
The essence, life, drive of Shee At'iká
is buried in the depths.
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