Swim, my silver beauty, swim!
Follow me to river’s source.
Do not make your bed with him,
though he move gravel with more force.

Lay your eggs upon the sand
and guard their orange splendor there
while I employ my milty gland,
shuddering sideways in our lair.

And when the procreation’s done,
when you and I are tired and tattered,
our flesh will nourish everyone;
our lives will then have truly mattered.

For now, we dream of alevins, fry
and darting schools of speckled smolts
who someday will return to die
here too like loving thunderbolts.

(24 September 2023)