The fish’s tongue,
Its vessels severed,
Rots and falls away
And Cymothoa exigua
Grafts itself in place.

It wriggles one way
Taking note
It wobbles up and down
It makes a dance that seems like speech
And becomes its master’s sound

And when the school of fish consumes
Exigua-serving lies
They can see the world’s truth
With Cymothoa eyes