The Vow

This that we do with our lives
is a vow,

a promise,

a service if we go at it
humbly enough.

When its golden eyes and gills
become parched in the biting air
and its gaze knows nothing
more than what a hungry
bear can offer of itself,

it is done.

There is nothing more to do.

It is this.

There is no other reason for
any of us to struggle our way
into this world as we do.

All our lives we are called:

“Come!”

“Come!”

We hear.

“This way!”

We call it longing because
we have forgotten
that we speak the usual
language of wild things.

Yet, up river we go.

We must.

We must yield.

Yes.

This we do with our lives
is a vow,

an agreement made in secret
with something truly holy,

a sacrament.

Yes.

I’ll tell you how I know:

I watched a sockeye salmon die.

And, for the first time,

I really understood

my life.

— Jamie K. Reaser