Big Fish, Patience and Loss

How Fish bite

I once spent twelve years trying to catch a fish,

In one particular place

Deliberate in my fantasy

Lured on by this water

That fancied a fish.

And when it came,

In the space where afternoon

Begins to turn golden

And quiet,

But long before the time of frogs,

Or the last of summer’s blackberries

Cast their liquored spell,

A slow motion swirl,

A great heaving beacon across the flat water,

Slow motion, now,

In the way that memories become.

The jolt through arm and body

Letting out a great whoop,

Before it went silent again,

Suddenly.

And Evening resumed it’s course,

And I stopped counting in years.

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