The prompt word for this poem was 'source'. Mythology is full of sources, and mythology comes with a plethora of suggestions, all endlessly malleable. It provides a platform for creativity but with roots that give the work weight and resonance. The poem is a bit of a departure for me; feel free to comment.
The Salmon in the Spring, the Hazel and the Hermit
Into an open gob the hazelnuts fell,
so over the years the salmon grew
into a colossus.
A day came when one nut dropped, plumb-line,
to be devoured complete with husk
at the very moment of its agitation.
And in that very instant, the salmon spewed from its intestines
its knowledge of a thousand years;
that cascaded downhill
over the shilling bright stones,
through the ignorant meadows to the lake,
where they became part of an ever-shifting
circuit of water, weed, spume and silt.
A hermit, who lived by the lake,
doused his face, and drinking some of this potion
was instantly replete.
A hazel took root in his belly and he convulsed,
so that the stones unearthed by his flailing feet
filled the lake
and sent its waters flooding out,
onto to the plain where the people lived;
and they, too, in their turn, drank .