Willard’s Creek
In the shallows a mink teaches her young
to turn rocks for hellgrammites, summer fur sleeked
to her sides so the ribs show. Sunrise kindles a nimbus
around her head.
Casting a glance in my direction,
she chucks to her kits. Smooth as a school of minnows,
they flow over the bank into the willows—
eyes gleaming like onyx beads.
gnawed stumps
of the beaver dam meadow
overgrown
with lupine and paintbrush . . .
where Daddy had his stroke
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