In the Fishbowl

I’m sitting next to my fish bowl
on a cold day
watching him hover near the surface.
I read once that beta fish show they are happy
when they make little bubbles
that gather on the surface.
I don’t think my fish is happy.
I wonder if he knows i’m here,
looking at him from the outside,
seeing my head shift, back and forth,
or my hair falling down
from a tight bun upon my head.
He hides in that artificial plant,
hovering.

I’m shivering outside his glass bowl
in my house
and the only thing I can hear
is the breath escaping my mouth.
Outside the trees are swaying
back and forth
and the rain falls down
from the sky.
Who, now, is gazing upon me?

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