for Peter Thabit Jones

The creel leaned in the thicket,
rickety, too modest for sound;
the line cloud-drifted its way to the outbank
and sank, neither ripple nor root
pock-marked the surface,
the cast was that perfect, only
a long wisp and slip, the sound of some daft insect,

The morning too early for matins, dawn's
flickering wingbar along his shoulder,
and with the heart's ivy-patience
he waited, certain a trout would take the fly,
already feeling the tug of the line, the ever-so-

slight winch in the wrist, so much like that time
between the raising of the Host

and the breathless taking in.

Vince Clemente, SUNY English Professor Emeritus, is a poet-biographer whose books include JOHN CIARDI, MEASURE OF THE MAN, PAUMANOK RISING, and seven volumes of verse.

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