Poetry About Mayflies

In wings shining above the river, mayflies finds a visible shape. Thousands rising at evening carries what ordinary speech leaves unfinished. Between one brief life held over water and trout breaking the amber surface, the heart learns to listen. Brevity does not prevent a life from changing the whole air, though the day rarely says so aloud. By night, small bodies scattered after dawn becomes a promise rather than an ending.

Thousands rising at evening enters the poem first. Mayflies follows, neither symbol nor explanation, but weather. Trout breaking the amber surface keeps the difficult measure. We stand near wings shining above the river and let certainty loosen. Brevity does not prevent a life from changing the whole air. Small bodies scattered after dawn remains after the room grows quiet.

Someone remembers one brief life held over water. Someone else names wings shining above the river and means an entire life. Mayflies moves between them with patient hands. Thousands rising at evening refuses to become only background. Brevity does not prevent a life from changing the whole air. At last, small bodies scattered after dawn gives the silence somewhere to rest.