Poem

The diaphanous fish
whirls its skittish eyes
from bank
to floor
to glittering sky.
It does not utter secrets to hands:
hands that plunge and grasp,
hands that divide, flay, or provoke
clouds of silt from riverbed.
Yet the body of the stream regards
the body of the fish:
fan gills, dorsal sail, fluttering wily tail.
The current ever perceives the miracle,
releasing its grip
endlessly becoming new forms, of root, creature, stone, vapor,
widening to glorious estuary, sea,
(and as if vaporized by epiphany)
the sky.


[This is a rough draft. Feedback/criticism is welcome!]