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
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
You are full.