I am the river, today.
I am the nymph ephemerella
on half-spent wings,
shucking my skin
in rivers of early spring~
to dun.
I am the trout that gorges,
a longed-for wait;
on egg-laden spinners, drifting
after a deep winter's rest.
I am the pollen
of the elder oaks and ashes
carried by the wind,
to land in runlets
replenished by rain.
I am the covered shadows
joined by the current;
reluctantly moving along
together into falls,
always babbling.
I am the fine mist
dusting, gently sweeping by.
Still touching cool from fly rods reel,
at its ten o'clock break- pausing
(even the breath)
in hopes of perfect cast.
I am the muck, stuck;
the solid ground.
I am the wing-dipped bird soaring.
The spiders silk, blown.
I am the green leaf, nibbled.
I am the pike; I am the bite.
I am the liken of a thousand years.
I am the rock, the green, the brown.
I am the movement;
the stillness in silent sounds.
I am the flow ....
I am the river.
~Jessi (poem& image)