Beautiful Sockeye Salmon has opened itself

to me, red bellied body halved on soaked split


cedar, lemon slices lining bony fillet flesh,

fresh sprigs of thyme scattered as mountain


pine paper needles over river. The fish enters

the deep cavern of the stove and what is left


of the feast of its life, recognizable in bright

flashes of silver, becomes lost to silver, char


burns its beautiful fin tip ends before marrow

of Sockeye life falls into my mouth. And my


mouth drops open as ocean returns to narrow

river mouth, and I am hooked, pulled falling


into this mountain river of time. And for brief

moment doesn’t it feel like my death.


Something is telling me this feels like death.

My own dark body surging downward as feed.


This river. Endlessly. My heavy shoulders.

Tight neck. So long aching charred back. Ready


to split myself open upon hook. Ready for

splitting cedar tree. Ready for the gods to eat me.