I’m here because today my father is dying.

Because I caught my first salmon at River Mill.

Because bones of my favorite border collie
are in a cathedral of sword ferns.

Because I found a rusted bike
tossed from Cazadero Bridge
and imagined stories about it for years.

Because someone put up a rope swing then disappeared.

Because yesterday I put a stepped-on salamander
out of its quivering pain,
and saved another half swallowed by a snake.

Because when I said the river was bathtub warm
and my submerged father discovered it wasn’t,
his laugh echoed through Barton’s cliffs.

Because I was seven.

Because I had never seen him so happy.