Sarah Day, Poet

River Fisher

Against the cool push and shove
of the river’s current, keep walking;
a gum tree beetle might be hatching
this clear morning that opens up water
like a lens; across the taut surface
wind might blow the eggs of a cadis moth.
In flowing water, still ponds reside:
a trout, suspended in a boulder’s vacuum
might watch a line of bubbles
slip downstream like an elver.
Water hugs the lungs like apprehension,
resists an interloper, insists on its own way,
would upend you from a slippery stone
and keep right on going.