I.To them the sky is as blue as the world from which they came:the flying fish, failing to wing the zephyrs that push the wavestoward the shore, reach and reach again in schools of finlikeeagerness to the light above, to the moment where the waterand wind end and meet like age-old comrades equally confusedbecause they are only fish—with wings, it seems—but whocan blame them for trying to be lik...