Cast upon impulse
a hand-made nymph
teases silver trout.
They pierce shadow green waters,
projecting their javelin selves
toward a breathless line.
A line without end is breathless
The smoothest stone weighs
heavy in the bed of a trout’s stream.
Silver scales shimmer
sanded by breathless time,
a spear’s head thrust into being,
resting on our meridian,
defining our shadows
against the word’s gravity.