When I cast the world disappears —
The rod, the reel, the line, the fly,
And the river cease to exist.
Even disappearance clears,
Leaving only motion. I try
To reach beyond the blazing mist.
The trout are only a waiting,
Still beneath endless cataracts,
Oblivious of my baiting.
Sand and pebbles stipple their backs.
When I leave with an empty creel,
I’m empty too, my wrist is sore.
Though I again begin to feel,
There is nothing lost to restore.
My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here: My Human Disguise.
