If wishes were fishes, the sea would be full.

                   (a misquotation of an English nursery rhyme)

And I would divert all those fishes

into the mouth of the Rio Grande near Creede, Colorado.

(Any fish that couldn’t survive the transition

from saltwater to freshwater


isn’t worth my time.)

I would not tell you these fishes were wishes.

I’d just give you some basic fly-fishing equipment.

You must cast your own arc, set your own hook,

catch your own wish.

Skin it. Filet it. Pan fry it in butter

with a squeeze of lemon and a splash of white wine.

Adorn it with a sprig of rosemary. Lift

your fork to your mouth



You are full.