There, just beyond the shadows'
edge, fleeting silver
and gold, skimming like sand
through my fingers trying
will get me nowhere
It's the not trying, the skipping
stones, sliding through sideways
that nets the fish, cold
and iridescent and rolling in
the shallow water
until, with a sigh,
I release it onto the page
or back into the indigo depths
from which it came, tail shimmering
until it vanishes from sight
(c) 2013, by Hannah Six
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