Silver salmon surge steel strong pushing
from the placid lake up the
tiny
twin
streams
losing metal every moment
twisting
turning cowardly
coral, glistening with purpose,
one last labour before they
fade to winter.
Do they know how it will end?
We watch from above
peasants lording over the gladiators fighting a fierce
force of the Earth they have never known.
We root for them to best the unbeatable current,
the only battle they can win.
What kind of mother nature would ask this of them?
Look! That one is so high up the creek
way past the choke.
Oh, but that one, pink to the gills,
sliding down, down, all fight gone.
I love both of them.
I am both of them.
