The hiss of a line in a light evening breeze

sends this rose of feather, fur and steel

out over a pool so clear shadows freeze

where it drops.  To be in this place, to feel

the and promise of the river turn to wishing

then transformation in wing scattered points

of evening light, a woman learns fishing

with her heart.  For all the loss fall anoints

with yellow and red under a painful blue,

she watches her question drift in the last light

and waits to see it dimple and vanish through

a ring so subtle only a trout might

know its value.  And how eternity rings

through the line!  And how the falling river sings!

by; Greg Keeler

www.seattlegrapevine.com