Fording the Creek

So many times
I tried to grasp
at veins
under river’s
liquid skin.
Wading stream crossings,
I saw rocks
through water’s lens—
green as turquoise
and flecked with copper veins.
Yet each time
I reached,
my fishing hand
came up empty.
The shimmering rock
escaped my grasp
like flash of trout
or spadefoot toad.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s