Deep I go into myself
arm casting, eye checking the fly as it
lands, lightly, on the current—
I watch it, sometimes,
drifting
flowing—
my soul deep into the river, its voice
constant through the ages—
my cast strong, sure
in the warmth of sun-filled
Sunday morning.
Neal Lemery May, 2010
1 comment:
Very nice; I tweeted a link to this today.
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