Whitish seams of sun search the overcasting gloom.
Sandals lie carelessly left on the deck-and-post
pier.
The mud smell of lake water permeates the air.
Like the refuse of life, rods rest against
the wall.
His mind circles the day; he grits his
on-edge teeth;
The brown trout rise in the air; he gasps
wordlessly;
They drink and sift the air; he loosens his
silk tie;
They balloon and stream on poles; his dry
lips tremble.
His pewter hair reflects the melancholy sky.
He stares at the trout swimming above the
lake.
For now serene, as he inhales the wind-scrubbed lake,
His lost unpeopled mind swims with the bannered fish.
