300 streams of memory

I dream about time
and the distance between us,

how age settles like silt
in a Montana stream,

replay wounds of cutthroat
laid side by side for gutting,

out of the wicker creel,
where they gasped in unison,

each hoping to see water again,
feel comforting coolness,

dart down to a pool, deep,
lie healing, until time to feed.

Timothy Pilgrim