I am swimming, treading water really, in a city harbor, trying to catch fish with a net. The water is brown & murky, but I can still see the fish swimming all around me—many sizes & colors of fish. I keep saying that I wish I had a net, even though I’m holding a net. In saying “I wish I had a net,” what I really mean is that I wish I could somehow capture the fish while they were underwater, & then keep them underwater, but still be able to scoop them out with a net. I want both those contradictory things simultaneously. Perhaps I want a magical net.

At the shore lies an industrial looking part of a city—docks & cranes & warehouses. I am about half a mile from the shore, I think. I realize I am swimming with someone else, but I don’t know who it is. Together we marvel at the fish.

They are many colors, often white with red or yellow heads. The colors are solid & bright, strongly marked, & it reminds me of candy—wet candy—like red-hots or gobstoppers & especially candy corn. Some of the little fish look exactly like candy corn. Sometimes we feel them biting or sucking on our skin, but it doesn’t bother us. There are 3 fish in particular that I’m trying to catch. I am not tired or nervous, treading water for so long, so far from the shore.

Then 3 duck-like creatures appear. They are smaller than real ducks, & have bright cherry & terracotta colored markings. They are swimming past us, on the sur face, toward the docks. Our priorities change & we swim after the duck-things as fast as we can. We want to see them up close; catch them; have them. We’re laughing.