Round and round it goes

A pig in water
could be
like a fish in water, or
like a fish in a tree, or
like a fish leaping in the air.

Frankly,
it could go a million ways.
"Think of all the ways it could work,"
says glossy, cheap therapy online.

Well,
he could hop around in denial,
huffing and puffing and
glorifying his drained heart;
licking the salt off his weariness.

He could try
to snuff his snout into the mess,
evolve into an amphibian
or die trying,
staying true to one's genes.

He could
fly into a fantasy
where the horizon flows over
the brim, where he breathes in
the mundane and breathes out
magic, where dreams never die

Round and round it goes

and cradle hope instead, where
joy becomes eternal bliss and
the azure sea and the sky kiss.

Or he simply could not.

And the simulation shall restart,
all over again –
everything was what it used to be
and everything will be as what it will be.