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.