The Red-Lipped Batfish

 
takes small steps on the ocean floor,  
     looking overdressed, theatrical, 
awkward— I recognize the feeling:  
              of being visible in ways I can't 
control, but moving forward anyway
     while pretending nothing's wrong. 
But maybe the batfish is a diva. 
              She can walk on the tips 
of her fins and doesn't care 
     if anyone's watching. And maybe 
there's nothing wrong, since shame  
              is an invention that keeps us 
from inhabiting our own joy. 
     What's gravity when you can tiptoe-
float through water, the spots 
              on your front and back 
rippling with reflected light,
     announcing your arrival?