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
