flitting forward in fits
and starts and swings
on wings

gossamer, delicate
and strong enough
for a thousand miles

swimming down, out
far away and then again
up, and in, deeper

against the broad current
and into the rushing froth
back to beds of spawning time

and what seems captive
here in time
and two dimension
takes on depth
and height and breadth
and Spirals ever outward
on.