A Dream Fish

by Martin Willitts Jr

A dream fish flounders in my arms,
light glints off its scales like Brahams’ Lullaby.

I throw it back into the memory lake,
but its weight still lying solidly in my arms
is my son at birth.

Trees dangle their fall leaves
as bait on fishing lines,
a mere loon’s cry from another shore.

I toss the fish. It arches, silver and yellow,
pierces the lake surface,
a directional arrow to home.

The fish and the loon were never here.
My son swims on his own.