A Sand Shark at Linville

A Sand Shark at Linville

Beneath the bridge of marble stones,
Cut to fit by an artist from the old world,
I cast my line at the roiling green.
I am a child now, digging my old basketball shoes
Into the dark river mud,
Stripping the leaves from overhanging birches
With my hook and rod,
Finding small, colorful salamanders
In the muck beneath stones.

I bend to the river

My eyes find an unnatural shape in the curving
Flow, weighted against the river stones,
Moving with the current as if alive. But not
Alive. Minnows feed on the stringy alien
Gills, willowing in the flow.
I probe the open mouth with my toe.
Teeth snag on my laces, and open-mouthed
A sleek nightmare form chases my foot from the water.

I step back

It lies on the darkwater stones, bloodless
Small, black-eyed

I hook it by the jaw

Meeting the unnatural flow, stiff-tailed
Spinning off balance as a spider-line,
Not a fish anymore

Now, I can see that the river meets the sea. 
But not then

I cast off the line, for something to happen

Should I allow its bones in this place?
Is it poison?

The wimpling current does not take it. There is no movement of the body,
Only movement of the river.

I cannot leave it without hope. 

I cut a drop of blood from my hand, and mark its cold forehead. I leave it
Covered in a grave of black river clay,
A child within the living waters of the world.