In the middle of nowhere you find them-

The pieces of net, small remains of larger conquests.

I would say that they are the ghosts of the salmon runs,

The afterimages that remain when the fish and the fishers are gone,


Some of them are from a time when nets were hemp or nettle,

Somehow preserved in the wash of rocks, water, and salt.

And maybe they are still afterimages-

Not of this year,

But of a dead world,

Where waters thick with fish

Dreamed of the emptiness to come.

IMG_0618Ghosts of past waters, sad and strange

We carry our ghosts with us in the lands of resources.

For more waters, ghost inhabited and otherwise, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.


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