The Linnet's Wings :Take All My Loves, My Love - Page 125

The Linnet´s Wings boned out, cumbersome as caves owing the river new obligations, until it flashed by once for my understanding, once for valid differences working about my rod. A sudden dart of silver, a trace of flecked gold from old arrastras, confirmed me, quickly, as man plying but this near regal pursuit and it, pure phantom, illusive ghost. I have caught trout, but never this one, not the deep sounder of even my own days, bell ringer, fathomer of staring silence, of blue trance listening against my boots, walloper of rocks, bottom striker, underneath a luminous wave a boulder knows how the Equator knows of sun, tail the thumbnail sketch a whale’s fluke might bend, gills performing slick mystery of auras and airs, what’s hiding under cover and utter silence, like a comet awash in the Milky Way. Now, in every deep pool, his eyes feel my shadow fall away from the sun. __________________ 125