River-Life

My river carries sunshine on its back,
joy-rides rows of bubbles
swirled up by counter-currents,
forges a deep-set path.

Emerging from tunnelling the darkness
under the bridge it narrows,
brown, a swift-nosed mole
burrowing between banks of cow-parsley and thyme,
pushing past the ghosts of the also-rans
who didn’t intend to stay long -

my brother is there in the shallows
resisting the flow, balancing one-legged
waving at me; now in swimming trunks
dangling from a branch,
see him dropping fast, a bundle of flesh and daring
into the water below, friends whooping, waiting in turn,
minnows touching at his toes -

and by the narrow tributary
where we paddled
my mother sits on the grass,
spots a kingfisher flashing blue
dragonfly skimming the stillness,
looks to the rushes opposite
where she stood with us one morning
for a photograph.

Only I’m here now
up to my knees, net in hand,
water tickling my calves,
casting about for caddis worms shifting in their twigs,
scanning for floating maps of frogspawn,
the occasional cautious newt.
And the river noses on.