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, blue gill,

salmon, croppie or perch,

anything that leaps will flash