The river still runs at night
When the salmon sleep with eyes
Wide open. Their silvers flash
Amid the stones in the stream.
As I wander on the trail, I yearn
To have them in my hands.
I kneel and watch how still
They are in the cool rapids
Before plunging my hands into the depths.
Unsurprisingly, they slip away,
Which makes me wonder if
They were just illusions
I made in the moonlight.
The waters clear and shadows stretch
Where I thought I held
The fish for a moment.
The gloaming digs into me
As if I, too, were just a dream
That someone has tried to reach…