Saturday, October 22, 2016


Some invisible scents send a thread
downstream to river to ocean then
double back upriver and upstream
to stitch together fat, laden dreams
for spawning salmon as they drop all
their jewels in gravel, then die. The
long, olfactory tug from their nursery-
stream pulled them home then out
of themselves, the way fugitive scents
drew two moths along an aerial line
a quarter-mile apart from each other,
wobbling in the updrafts along a cliff’s
edge, the cliff unraveling as I followed.

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