Secret ingredient – poem for dVerse

I’m not like her, she’s
like a fish, flickering, caught
in a fine net, somewhere between
sunset and sunrise, childhood
games long gone, and
nothing to show but the
scars left by the world
as it whirled past, wielding
its laughter like a blade, like nothing
that can be held. But
even so, I’m like her, as a
bird is like a fish, a pair
of darting curves, of
nestling pom-poms.

A poem for Amaya’s dVerse prompt last night. The secret is that I’ve borrowed a verse from De’s poem for her own Quadrille prompt on Monday. I always feel a Golden Shovel has a secret ingredient in it…