Then

in one motion –
my arm and cupped hand in the stream
scoop water like a copper ladle
through a school of minnows,
catches one, others cascade between
my thumb and forefinger
or over the edge of my hand
back into their salvation.
Tadpoles scatter and dart
through the rippled image
of my head and eyes;
my shins itch from wet, cuffed jeans
and clinging grass;
green shallots on the opposite bank
tingle my nasal membrane; the emptiness
of my stomach aches.
A monarch butterfly
jitters past, slow motion, like a leaf
sent speeding by a gust of wind
but caught now, caught now, caught now
as the lone minnow circles
the sea of my open palm.