| The water is a glaze
|
| Like loneliness at ease with itself
|
| I cast and close my eyes for the whir out across the water
|
| The line striking the surface
|
| And sinking
|
| I like waiting
|
| For it to settle on the bottom
|
| Then I jig it up a little
|
| I imagine
|
| The lure in utter dark
|
| I play it lightly. |
| Fish rise
|
| Just shy of the surface
|
| They play their glints
|
| Off the moon on the water
|
| I see too my own loneliness
|
| It’s not too big
|
| And it breathes easily
|
| Soon, it may pretend it’s rain
|
| Soon, it may pretend it’s rain
|
| Rain blurs the water
|
| There is nothing wrong
|
| With rain
|
| I take a deep breath and I cast
|
| And cast
|
| Say you are out for a walk
|
| And somewhere through the trees
|
| You walk out of everything in your head
|
| Or off by a window in thought
|
| And what you look out to
|
| A crease of trees perhaps you don’t see at all
|
| But what you are thinking there in the trees
|
| As you open like this through a window
|
| Or walk and walk into a glazing
|
| Then say darkness falls
|
| Darkness farther back than the cave you felt into
|
| Farther back than violence to animals
|
| Darkness farther back than water you dove into
|
| Hands in front of your face
|
| To feel your way down and know
|
| This darkness did not begin did not gather
|
| Then something backing off it seems as you come in
|
| Re-renters you and crosses you over
|
| The sleep of the living and the dead
|
| Big frogs croak
|
| Baby frogs slither;
|
| I’d rather go broke
|
| Than not be with her
|
| Bull frogs croon
|
| Slugs wiggle wider;
|
| I’d live in ruin
|
| To lie down beside her |