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