rocks, glass

i am everything (i have)
ever made. we are more than
their rocks and glass. we are
our own kind of support. we
are water after all, water
(shining through) the fish glass,
or the glass fish. the eel-grass
as it was in May, for example.
how the crane tiptoes through
the swamp, after all. doesn’t it
feel great to be alive? doesn’t it
just fit, right in there, when you
burn down every place you have
ever been?