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 sever 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