Clouds hang loosely over this mountain
range behind my house. In a while
the light will go and the wind come up
to scatter these clouds, or some other.
across the sky.

I drop to my knees,
roll the big salmon onto its side
on the wet grass, and begin to use
the knife I was born with. Soon
I’ll be at the table in the living room,
trying to raise the dead. The moon
and the dark water my companions.
My hands are silvery with scales.
Fingers mingling with the dark blood.
Finally, I cut loose the massive head.
I bury what need burying
and keep the rest. Take one last look
at the dying light. Turn
toward my house. My night.

Foto: Lago Serenidad, Alaska.