Shoot it if it rhymes

Current Feelings

The saddest water
I found in the canal.
Green, a burnt green
of snubbed-out desire.
Thick, murky aftertaste
of layered longings.
Twigs and seeds, feathers and shells
melting between grinding planes
of current.

Salt from unspent tears
feeding ugly, lethargic, unforgiving,
smirking, whiskered fish.

Then, from nowhere,
an Amber glow falls.