Things have been leaking from the house
for weeks now and the water's off
while something underneath the sink
is out of true.
And you forget
how wide the rooms are that you've filled
with books and albums, furniture,
until you pack them up, until
you test the echo of a name
against the walls.
And Easter Day
is wide and bright outside with snow
and I have one last thing to solve
before I go:
beneath the globe
of light-shade in the living room
our pair of goldfish in a bowl
who never turned a corner in
their lives, who know no better than
to be about each other,
soundless, open-mouthed.

by Antony DUNN, in "THE POETRY REVIEW", Volume 104:4, Winter 2014

(photo taken from Internet; edited by Armando TABORDA)