I saw a photo of a dead salmon,
beautiful, spent, its dark red merging into the gray rock,
the stream licking at its tail,
his one eye, looking up at the sky, facing upstream.
I want to look like that when I pass -
as if I’ve used all the fat on my bones and blood in my veins
to end up where I knew I needed to be
in order to make my life complete.
Resting on a bed of moss and pine needles,
ferns growing through my fingers, spread upstream
reaching for the next bend, yet knowing that
it’s ok not to reach it. Happy just dangling in the water.