Angler

Out from the house, the slim quick supple wand

Tremulous with anticipation in your hand,

You hurry down by dandelions to the lake,

Summer’s idle prince coming into his kingdom.

A woodpecker beats time in a treetop,

Frankincense languor seeps through the pores,

Moody water overhung with alders and willows,

Where the tall float’s quizzical antenna drifts

And bobs, pricking at a sotto voce omen.

Thrilling through refractions, the rudd

Come plunging and fighting to the net,

Gilt flanks minted in the evening gleam.

Time and again, the spry float dashes

Across black meniscus in hesitant trickles.

Discreetly abundant,a Gioconda moon

Perches, approving,in an old ash tree.

Wending home, holy Lord of Animals,

You breathe the dew-spongeing lane and smile.