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
really
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
chew
swallow
You are full.
