A note of explanation: For anybody just checking in for the first time, I am in the middle of a project to write a fly fishing poem everyday, during the month of September. I just figured you might be wondering what is going on. After this little project is complete- we’ll probably return to our regularly scheduled programming.
Poem #12: Elegy
the house was tucked into a bend of the creek,
white, small, nothing special
sixty feet or so from the bank and from
the weed beds where trout hid from the full shine of the sun
and where fish would come up as dusk broke
the back of the sky, exposing the scarlet sun
where fish came up to chase the caddis
that struggled through the silver ceiling of water
an overpass now soars above and across that place,
a highway now cuts across the broken scarlet sky and casts its shadows on
the weed beds where trout hid from the full shine of the sun
I knew a person that lived in that house for a while,
and I fished there once on an evening
when fish came up to chase the caddis
that struggled through the silver ceiling of water
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