• MORNING FISHING


    Tremolos...
    A loon in the distance,
    Fog rising like smoke
    From the fires of the lake.
    And there!
    Near the landing
    A doe and two fawns!
    I drop my thermos,
    Its distress echoes
    Out across the lake,
    And I reach out to comfort it.
    White tails wave in the distance
    Where the deer have gone.

    Deaf
    I drink in silence,
    Moving my gills,
    Mouth gaping
    And closing,
    I swim free
    As a northern
    Foraging the shallows.
    Distant thunder
    Breaks my delusions
    Of lunkerhood
    And a rain crow
    Warns of a coming storm
    As the breezes grow.

    Distant thunder
    And no more tremolos.
    I feel a panic surge,
    Look at the gray sky,
    Search for the sun,
    And a mist fills my eyes.

    Firing up the boat
    To return to my wife
    (I am married to the city,
    Computer disks
    And keyboards)
    But my mistress,
    Though in a stormy mood,
    Has been good to me,
    Let me breathe;
    Let me lie
    Beside her in the morning
    Before the drizzle began,
    And she will welcome me back
    With no regard for the weather
    To her wilderness abode
    When I am again free
    And my wife thinks
    I have just
    Gone morning fishing.