Catch and release

Because the hook is too cruel, I
offer softer lures, chumming
the surface of the rivers
you love:  the cathedral light,
the refuge of rocks,

the small ballet
of water striders walking
the sky of your shimmering world.

From which I might lift
you for an instant
to remember the iridescence of
your delicate, dappled skin, your
rosy flanks, your silver belly,

the fin-fletched shaft
of your body;
your elegant architecture.

And see again your crimson gills
pulsing in air they cannot
breathe, the gape
and struggle until
I loose you in

that free and fluid
realm I cannot inhabit.
Though you love me, too:
I see it in your wide
unblinking eyes.

You ponder an earthbound
life, the strangeness of feet,
the tender dexterity of
wondering hands, how
Iungs work, how

to breathe even
while kissing.  How
we are caught,
and then
released.

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6 comments

  1. Your writing is always deep, meaningful, and gorgeous!

    Like

    1. What a lovely compliment, Leah! Thank you.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. very creative, Cate!
    i’m glad you’ve learned
    how to get released
    when caught 🙂

    Like

    1. Sometimes, anyway. 🙂 Thanks, David!

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Ouch – straining to breathe, maybe I should try underwater. Once again you leave me breathless, dear Cate. Incredible.

    Like

    1. Thanks, Sarah. I knew you would relate to this one, perhaps painfully so now. Yet it is our chronic, shared condition.

      Like

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