Fish-Top Falls

Just suckled on the upland snows

the river plays with its ice dolls and cuts

new teeth on rocks.

Trout climbing the strong current

reach the pool below the falls at the edge

of the high country and crowd into its downpour.

For days they leap and fail, thrown like moths

out of the foam to flap and thrash the curtain

of water, trying flight.

Some big ones wash-up on sandbars

down the river, eyes cloudy as though

looking inward for the light of the lean headcreeks

where they hatched and foraged until

a freshet washed them over the one-way falls

to fatten in the pools of the low country.