When I Found Joy in the Morning: “Swimming After Trout”

The sun prickles me,
and the dock creaks, rocking
on algae-spotted Styrofoam.
A silvery leap spatters
this drowsy morning,
now tail-thrashed alert
as trout flee weed beds
and sunken logs
for spring-fed depths—
far from the snaking neck
and strut and stalk
of a great blue heron.

My toes line the edge
of wave-slapped wood,
and I dive, in an arc,
into the current,
plunging below
tepid-safe waters,
desiring mute green
until the cool presses
hard on my breast,
and I push upward,
bursting into air,
a gasp of joy.