Chinook Sad Song in Alaska

Gills empty last gulps of water upon dry rocks of Sitka Sound. One eye, upturned, looks as if it knows the loss of moisture to come, shriveling to the size of a small raisin upon rock. His vacation to the last wild frontier, fisherman separates tissue and organs from bones and head. Some few small strands cling to them as if unwilling to leave. What are you doing? What are you doing? No prayer, no song. fisherman, with his pie-shaped hat with many hooks and lures, still works on the fish as if not hearing him. Then puts him on the seventh grade metal shop makeshift wrought iron grill. Some parts going to Los Alamos, St Louis, or St Augustine, while some are left upon the rocks of the shore. The eye stares into the water. Look my family. Stay low among season's currents.