JOURNAL

When I see you, I see your beauty. I also see this river is empty. It is only early fall and I know there will be no more fish to fill this river, to fill your body before the winter. I wonder if you are braced for such scarcity, or if you are hoping that right now, another pulse of salmon are making their way ‘round the bend towards you.

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We all walk towards it. Some of us swim headlong into its embrace with such purpose it’s almost enviable. That is, seeing such loyalty to the inevitable could seem enviable to us other creatures who try to cheat it, perhaps become lost to the grief of it. Death saturates October.

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