The Current

These fish have dark eyes
these painted fish that come to me in dreams,
scattering their roe and milt
in the pockets of my brain.

But there's some that come--
heavy, scarred, silent like the rest,
that simply hold against the current,
closing their dark mouths against the current,
closing and opening, holding and watching.

Poem by Raymond Clevie Carver, modified by Liza

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