Sunday, 20 January 2013

Fish Folds

The salmon run turns
on a limb of the Pacific

remote missions trailing
great harvesting nets

sluicing sea spittle,
sonar battens down

pound for pound
blip for blip

national hatcheries spawn
stakes for lawmakers

to rush cutters
until it's in the numbers

for towns marked by tarred pilings
barnacled green gray freighters

to lay up docks
sealed in tetanus

let shore fall to tides
air sift through to fish

graceful in a slow count
coursing in locked arcs

metallic buoyant bodies.

(Originally appeared in Columbia Poetry Review)

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