The Trout
I was not in the mood for fishing
though i brought all the gear and
Settled into my comfortable mode
Of tranquil bliss by the edge of the pool
But you being the older wiser trout
Stirred the stillness of the pool
Your proud fin cutting the surface
Like a sharpened tool waning and listing
Your tail following as you flung yourself
Like a trapeze artist with an invisible swing
The tree branches hung low overhead
Like a circus tent and i with a front rose seats
Watched in awe and surprise
As if every fish scale glittering in the sun
Was a diamond and with your final splash
As you arched your torso and disappeared
Beneath the blanket of water I cried
Tears of joy of love tears of joy of loss
And tears of joy of being serenaded by
A voiceless wise old trout
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