As a result of several interesting turns of events, two tiny goldfish are now sharing my office space. Rilke and Wallace (will Stevens turn over in his grave knowing a fish is his namesake?) are happy - at least they appear healthy. Wallace used to have miniature black spots on his underbelly which have now disappeared, to be replaced by two white blotches, one on each side. I wonder, does he know what has happened? Does he sense the loss and replacement? Without mirrors, what does he see and what does he feel? I can't imagine that he could actually be absorbed in what has been taken from him. Yet, is it something taken from him? Or is it something he has willed himself to lose?
And can a fish will itself to anything? Rilke and Wallace exist in my admiration and adoration of their existence. They swim round and round without ever knowing that they are being admired, gawked at, examined. Theirs is an existence independent of whether or not I place a mirror inside their watery world.
How is he reacting to this changing? He shows nothing. They are superficial, physical colorings that an outsider--someone other than his self--would be aware. Rilke, too, is unphased by this changing. Perhaps he is used to being in the presence of transformations. He offers nothing and acknowledges nothing...
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