Moratorium

In the corner
of an otherwise unfurnished room
an illuminated fishtank
throbs and glows.
The fish swim about, minding their own business,
They have a special wisdom.
People come.

The fishtank is ignored,
it lacks the robustness needed for world history.

The fishtank is taken for granted,
as if it were a refrigerator
that would always be full
of food and light.

I often wonder
how much longer the mysterious third person
who breaks into the house when we are gone
will continue going through the books we leave around,
underlining the phrases that give
meaning to our lives,

circling the footnotes
that point to something wholly other.

The cleaning lady who washes the stains from the sky
has never asked us for a raise.

She has the power, the power
to take everything.