The sea was a pink, purple and pearly glaze,
without a rimple of surprise.

* * *

I thought I had seen flying fish before.
I was mistaken. I only saw some
today: from six in the morning to six in the evening
they whizzed fin-flapping past.

From afar they are butterflies. From
nearby they are birds.
They never look like fish except
when dipping back into the water.

I saw them - exactly like swallows
at the threat of a summer shower - skimming
over medusas like giant beads of amethyst.

* * *

In the setting sun they look like
microscopically small skaters.

Translation: 2011, John Irons