A Day on the Soque River
Late October fly-fishing the Soque
I catch one small Brown but gingerly
Return it to the flow of liquid light
The fly line lifts and floats on its aether
Then settles on the water lightly
As a leaf but the fish refuse all offerings
Green red yellow brown gold vair
Fall has set these woods aflare
That never did more brightly burn
For me signaling more maybe
Than an end to another fishing season
Censing autumnal air with an earthy
Sweetness dusting it all with an
Ash far finer than any residue of childhood
Late evening I head for home a hundred miles
Away the moon aglow in an unearthly light
Grinning like a crooked jack-o-lantern
Each of us to sort a course
The Soque untroubled from its source
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