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

really

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

chew

swallow
 

You are full.