How do those fish feel?
Is it an urge or longing
For origin grounds?
Is what makes them run
Perhaps rather anger at
The meager time left
The locks were alive
With hope-filled travelers
This stream is empty
Autopilot now
The hum of folding waters
Pilgrim hears progress
Empty and alone
This salmon takes time to think
What is this all for?
Under the full moon
Shafts of light refract and dance
Salmon wants Potlatch
At the hatchery
Some flop against the ladder
While others wallow
At the hatchery
One pilgrim jumps the ladder
Onlookers applaud
The hatchery is
One thing but the older haunts
Are a thing apart
Remote spawning ground
It must be a pristine place
How can they find it?
How to reach first grounds
People of the Large Lake
Might still remember
But where to search now?
Past Kirkland and Bothell
And Issaquah too
Perhaps in Gold Bar
In Carnation or Snoqualmie
I will never know
Alien Buddha Press 