The salmon are flocking we got in the habit
of doing without them their scales scraped
prickles across clotted current and made us whole
The salmon are flocking we got in the habit
of picking the locks along the blocked channels
we feel their fingers we got in the habit
of being reliable of sober containment
The salmon are flocking we got in the habit
of blank utility we got in the habit their scales feed the oaks
The soil that we held cupped in our mouth
itself a mouth opening it got in the habit
of engorged quiescence the oaks clutch the egg sacs
the shorelines absorbing the seed birds are skimming
The salmon are flocking we got in the habit
of waiting of waiting they nibble the blackflies
from our pooling basements they bareback
our greetings the veins reconnecting we got in the habit
of strict separations we got in the habit of being
drawn under the habit of having no more
than we got they’re planting the seedlings they’re softening
they’re ripening we got in the habit the gravel is stirring
the old channels shaking the salmon are flocking
we’re tasting the ocean we got in the habit
we’re ready we’re coming
