The sun fingers and prickles me,

And the dock creaks gray,

Floating on algaed styrofoam.

A silvery leap spatters

This drowsy morning,

Now tail-thrashed alert.

The trout flee weedbeds,

And sunken-log mysteries

For spring-fed depths.

My toes curve over the edge

Of wave-slapped wood,

And I dive,

In an arc,

Into their current,

Plunging below

Tepid-safe waters,

Desiring mute cool green

Until it presses

Hard on my breast,

And I push upward,

Bursting into white air,

Raining diamonds.

Credits

Leaping Trout by Winslow Homer

Underwater courtesy of Mikhail Vedyokhin

Drops of water courtesy of iamharin