Confluence
Incantation at Little Skookum Inlet
almost two years on
I schedule time
I meet her
where the eagles glide
the gulls cry
and otters slip like mercury
the inlet empties
a river summoned by the moon
shofar of gravity
ultimate power play
laying bare the clam beds and oysters
filtering pain and impurity—and more pain
the cutthroat gorge on chum fry
airborne, defiant, then gone
back to the abyss
the river rushing to the Sound
but my radius is cut.
gravity un-chose me.
I’m an aeronautical accident
I say the word once
then again, again, again
muck on my boot
slate sun in my eye
and the gulls still cry
mom—mom—mom
there’s a way you say it
that you’ll never say again
This article first appeared in Volume Thirteen, Issue Three of The Flyfish Journal.