Water is a mirror for sky,
mountain, pine, meadow.

Sun shimmers
on the rim
of the forest.

Down shore from the dam
a man has parked his truck
on the spillway. Country music
and a long beard,
he slips a bobber
onto a fishing line
.

Beyond him
my son and I
come to a gate
straddling the dirt track
between tall pine trees.

I’ve been here before.
I’ve sat here looking at rain
when he was a boy
and I was still younger
than I am.

Now shadows
stand dark in the opening,

as if the forest holds
something new,

and the fisherman,
golden in the sun,
stretches back his rod
and casts a deep buzzing arc.
That red bobber soars
into silences, clear
and unknown.

 

 


Christopher Raley

©Photo Credit: Christopher Raley