When I die let me feed the river

Issac Lewis

The fermented river
grey blue, through dry cane
scuds wave backward
under a cloy breeze.

Foam crumbles on
muskrats’ mussels
shelled like spent roe
from Chinook flank
rotting, eyeless,
credit winter’s
flesh on sand.

A raving year, bent
homeward, craving,
wrenching up mountains
burst upriver
thrashing release
up up up river.

This end
breathless, rotting
leaves fermented
melting on shores,
reeds, banks, beds

A winter to ripen
feed new year.

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 Isaac Lewis lives in Richland WA with his wife and their foster children. His poetry has appeared in Hawk & Handsaw. You can find his casual nature photography @crossdiver on Instagram.