Channel Fish

There is a gray cold desolation in the midst of the river of life,

a solitary channel which flows amidst the teeming waters. 

It is set apart, a stream unto itself,

its cold waters don’t mix with the warmer currents

cordoned off under an impervious thermal layer.

In the deep cold of the channel there is neither life nor light

only murky haze  

severed from the beauty of life.

In the great waters of the river there is joy.

Fish dance in schools twisting and sparkling with delight.

The waters are roiled by their exuberance

and the surface broken by their ecstatic leaps.

In the depths below

the channel fish sense the movement above

but do not comprehend its source.

There is no understanding,

no interaction between the channel fish

and the great waters above.

A channel fish cannot survive in the warmer flows.

It would surely smother in the closeness above.

And the fish of the great waters have no desire

to probe to murk of the channel,

polluted by the sludge and detritus of a million lost souls. 

The channel carries the reek of death

unnoticed by its inhabitants.

The river flows on as life in the channel ebbs slowly away.