The mayflies drip upon the film
Their corkscrews now unspun
Through mottled lateral lines we sense
Vibrations build and run
In tandem then we rise and fall
Breach tenderly in shade
As willow fronds brush summer on
And reed beds lie unmade
Is now the time to gorge and dream
Of distant waters seething?
Of moments sped to nauseous tilt
Gills crimson, shallow breathing?
Such scenes defy Time’s devilish ways
No self, no arrow’s story
A billion moments all at once
The chaos spawns the glory