Voices drift over the water,
phrases of the minutiae of the craft—
temperature, depth of water,
glitter of a novice’s cast.
The waves glint and open
holes in the water to let
out the sun that plays
in shimmers under our cap-bills.
The celluloid lights dance
with our gaze and blind
us momentarily in the morning
shush of water and wind
until a fish strikes, pulls
the line taut, the nylon
catching a lightning bolt’s
surprise parallel to the water.
I reel in the fish and lift it
into luminescence, unhook
it, and re-bait the barb,
a smear of minnow-shine on my hand.