In the Stream (Sarah Webb)

My hands cup
beneath the surface.
Minnows flit in the bowl

amber inside my fingers
amber against my legs
amber sliding downstream.

I meant to cross this river
reach the trees whose tops
flare yellow in the sun.

Pole hard, I said.
But though these hands are calloused
it is more than a matter of effort

and I find myself here
in the soft water
where minnows brush.

3-24-12