I could see grunions running wave to wave toward the beach below the trailer-parked cliff
Diving forward, seeping back half, always moving
Ahead, they are the moon powered, stretch toys
Silvery swimming soldiers
The A-rank, B-rank, C-rank meshing when the force changes
In a highest tidal churn flopping on the newly wet sand

Tiny petrified eggs and bodies from last night’s 12:15 am invasion
Digging birth latrines, tails first, for the men to ripen
The women are rubber band tired, prone
To the arc-formed lampposts to the beachhead, to the green moon
flickering a massive fish farm
No mind to the little brats, bouncing cadets with plastic shovels and buckets
Or to the centuries