Michael Garrigan

I always find myself on the edge of a bank eroding into

rushing water – layers of clay, schist, and sandstone

compressed into a cake sandwiching black curves of

            – Peacock coal – 

– Anthracite too beautiful to burn –

 

ragged hymns of black diamond eyes 

            flickering in full moons, 

                      the Morse code of brook trout halos

 

which I follow into long slow pools that I always

want to rush over to get to the fast riffles quicker 

you see, I like where there are contrasting flows 

in water, I like the way water folds in on itself 

before roiling into a deep sigh of a laugh,

I like to sink into that joyful susurrus 

and nestle the streambed rock 

rustling out the caddis, 

stonefly larva, the native 

speckles of these 

tight veins.