One Last Alaska Fishing Trip
I too am silent before the waters.
beneath the sky, where some sophist moon
passes into loveliness. I am nameless, too,
while rare permits me where few have gone,
a milky blue glacial path, with a hint of brine.
a milky blue glacial path, with a hint of brine.
While the glistening thumbnail fades,
the river invites me like crystal teal pebbles,
of lost familial memories to a depth mirroring
of lost familial memories to a depth mirroring
those zen peaks, those shivered ravines.
Ripped from the glass of the lake.
Chinook Salmon, Pacific Halibut,
Rainbow Trout, ride on the silver tides
of Kenai, of Kasilof, of Caines Head. Deep
in the blue facades of their longing, they
never return to the gleam, never,
never to return to the gleam.
And so it is that beneath this sea,
Arctic Grayling, and King Salmon whirl
Arctic Grayling, and King Salmon whirl
a silverstrobe red rave mixing purple, deep
sapphire with See Run Dolly Varden, as
each one calls me to cull the rope.
This is such a pretty poem, I love how you mix color and light to build a fantastic twilight.
ReplyDeleteI found myself playing with "rare permits." I permits as a verb, versus permits as a noun, and rare as a noun, it's fun. I don't know if that was intentional, but this poem evokes "rare" as some kind of abstract... thing. The poem makes rarity tangible. The fish being "ripped from the glass of the lake" is.. dreamy? Clearly I've lost whatever critical language I may, or may not have had.
I hesitated at "passes into loveliness," because I felt that it verges into sounding too sentimental. I had the same hesitation at "lost familial memories." I know what it's driving at, and the language itself is pure joy to my ears, so I'm torn. The language seems to break down between "whirl" and "red and silver rave;" maybe,
the Steelhead Trout and King Salmon whirl
a silverstrobe neonred rave, mixing deep...
The way you use repetition in the second stanza is really evocative!