Back Forty


As a consequence of moving forward

The river bottom stirred,
    unwound,
then circled your ankles downstream.

I had to wrap my fingers
    around either side of hawthorn
to steady against spring run-off.

Stoneflies broke
    into shaky flight.

I laid orange peels
    beside their split,

grey husks.
    Lost sight of you

mending into a wide hold,
    casting with the favor

of wind. I have married a dozen fish
    already. Hefted my share

of canoe. Battened on a creek
    I was only trying to read
the sky on the water.

No, the water
    behind the shadowed boulder

where a cutthroat is swaying.
    Swaying,
but holding.

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