poem #47

spring fishing
A vision there
it was like a vision
frame by frame
spooling out
in front of me
my line bellied
and slicing like a cheese-
wire the surface of the river’s run
exploding into the shock-
bright of white water
all air-flung and with
a shake of the head
I was broke
off on the third
jump and you said “that
chromer was big sonabitch”
we don’t hook
many fish like those
we will hook another
one I said and we will keep it  
between you and me
you thinking I am not
so good a fisherman anymore
shrugging off a steelhead
like that you said
who’s this new woman
you’re wearing on your sleeve
oh she shows me planets
the moon I said the endless
middle of my mind
a moment you said
is the hardest so
infinitely divisible one
can easily wrap
one’s arms around
a decade a year a season
yes it is the season
for fish I said
up river
near the log jam
we might find another
fish you said lets look
– Richard C. Armstrong III
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