At this opening of trees

he finds his place again,

water slow around the boulders,

sun streaks needle thin.


Grabs a spinner,

nightmare blue with hidden hooks,

lines severing shadows

everywhere he looks.


If he conjures skill enough and luck,

something from deep down

will spear the surface

and lure him from the ground.


It needn’t be

trout or bass;

channel cat, pumpkin head,

anything that leaps will flash.