The beck

In a dip beside a river ran a beck.
Retreating waters swelled the beck to form a pond.
And as I walked along the bank a great commotion broke
with two great mirrored fish arching in the sun.
Silver rainbow-shining water-gods.
They curved and flexed and split the surface wide
and showered a thousand images of scattered light.

And so I stopped and gazed upon perfection.
Watched the fecund female clamp her jaws
upon the thrashing caudal of the male.
Spray her eggs within his cloud of milt.
And in this final dance they stitched the surface
with ecstatic silver thread.
Until their carnal charge began to fail
and they lost the lustre from their flank.

The breeze took their sheen
and dulled their scales.
Cold mouths gasped for ocean space.
And calm regained its place as
sightless eyes reflected back the sky.
Then, spent, the beasts rolled over in their spawn.
Despoiled the beck and lingered on
for scavenging or putrefaction.
Soon the secret nutrient will ooze
and seep among the rushes.
While, beyond the trees, the river passes
unaware that this has been my dream.