Still under reconstruction. Title? Personification?

Trout

So many fish in this stone cold river,
but you’d recognize me from my torpedo shape
and my one dress: a blue-green rainbow
with a pink streak along my sides, white underbelly,
bespattered with black spots on back and fins
like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

All day and night I swim here
where wavelets call to one another,
where the water curls around a bend,
where a moon bent rests her light head
in the wet bosom of night.

The longer I’m here, the higher
I leap and arch and hurl manes of flying spray
into fresh water. Such joy in flying high
toward blue cloud-ruffled skies, then diving
into deep waters while avoiding thin whips
from banks and boats. It’s a turn-about fact
that trout are here today, gone tomorrow
without leaving a trace.

So let us plow paths, make bubbles
and live with great gusto!

Pat,  Nice poem with lots of imagery and color.  The poet tells me about his plight and ends up where poets do when they tire of saying I. Here is what I see:  "It's a turn-about" changes from first person to third.  Try to either stay in first person or third.  I notice a lot of poets go for the first person, but here, it leaves me up on the bank and I can only know what you tell me rather than "feel" like I am performing the action.  The last two lines went passed where the poem should stop.  I might even stop at the line before "It's a turn-about..."  If you stop here, then it is about "I" as the fish. Yes, I would recommend stopping here.  I especially like the moon scene and the sight of "hurl manes of spray."

Pat,  I really enjoy the imagery and the cool excitment of this poem... not a very interesting title.  Can you use the word "us" early on to help reader identfy subject earlier?  Here's a couple of nit-pick things:  Too many "where"... Put the word "leap" in last stanza... "dress" suggests female, got a better word? ... in last stanza change let us to let's just to soften what might otherwise sound moralistic or preachy... got a hook or barb on end of those whips?
I can personally identify with this poem both as a fisherperson and a nature lover.  Dewell

You did it Pat....a poem without extra spaces.  Nice imagery in this poem.  Nice loss of author as persona.  

Trout

So many fish in this stone cold river,
but you’d recognize me from my torpedo shape (I think you can clip ME from this line)
and my one dress: a blue-green rainbow (I might continue the description with "and my blue-green...dress"
with a pink streak along my sides, white underbelly, (TROUT as a title should alleviate the need to add "fin, sides" though underbelly is nice...but would you describe your Sunday best with an underbelly?)
bespattered with black spots on back and fins 
like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

All day and night I swim here
where wavelets call to one another,
where the water curls around a bend, 
where a moon bent rests her light head 
in the wet bosom of night.  (This is a nice image but what is TROUT in it?)

The longer I’m here, the higher 
I leap and arch and hurl manes of flying spray ("manes" is not from dress lingo/jargon, is it?)
into fresh water. Such joy in flying high  (You start to enter the fish's mind here and I get a bit strained)
toward blue cloud-ruffled skies, then diving
into deep waters while avoiding thin whips 
from banks and boats. It’s a turn-about fact  (You have left the TROUT description into the "point" of the poem.  It seems abrupt and a bit preachy.  Maybe it needs to be early in the poem?)
that trout are here today, gone tomorrow 
without leaving a trace. 

So let us plow paths, make bubbles   (Plow is not a fish or dress word)
and live with great gusto!  (This seems like you are telling the reader what the poem is trying to say.)

to Dennis who suggested I recopy to a clean sheet in Word before I paste. Yes! It worked. He also told me how to do it manually if I had no paste: Ctrl+v. Hey, I need all the help I can get and I know it. . . . .

I reworked my poem, based on some of your thoughts. Thank you! Any additional thoughts welcomed.

Rainbow Gusto

So many fish in this stone cold river,
but you’d recognize my torpedo shape
in this slinky, blue-green attire
with its pink streaks, white underbelly,
bespattered with black spots
on back like stars sprinkling a winter sky.

All day and night I swim and sleep here
under wavelets calling to one another,
inside the current curling around a bend,
beneath a moon bent resting her light head
in the wet bosom of night.

The more I come to these parties,
the higher I leap and arch and hurl manes
of flying confetti spray into fresh water.
Just imagine. Being in a ballroom
where you can throw fins high toward a ceiling
of blue cloud-ruffled skies and dive deep
while weaving in and out, dodging
thin whips from banks and boats.

For now, I can’t imagine
what the two-legged ones must think.