I
I cast my line on a forgotten lake,
its name devoured by the passing of a decade
and watch the bait bobble on the waves
I sit with my father on the bank
as he casts an identical line.
The afternoon breeze catches our strings and
encourages them to dance together
as summer heat brims the valley and spills over
We're silent for a brief moment,
just one,
Then the sound of a fish thrashing in the water,
against my tug,
interrupts our silent eternity.
II
I found a hidden pond,
in the Woods.
where I preferred to fish alone,
even though my parents told me
there were no fish.
But it was secluded,
deep, slotted into the earth at a hidden angle,
behind a smothering of trees.
The light filtered in,
and set the surface of the pond sparkling with
green fire,
ignited by the wild imagination of childhood.
If I find that place again someday,
I'll cast two lines into the murk,
One for me, and one for my father.
