I stalked the slippery shallows
as quiet as a falling star.
I hated the motorized boats
crisscrossing the rocky currents.
I did my fishing close to shore
near those dead overhanging logs.
I waited with a perfect eye,
and with precise timing I speared
the fish, graciously unaware.

It was those days when I was young
when the stars did not disappear
though the barn light burned and kitchen
candles flickered pink until dawn.
There was plenty; there was restraint.
It was then you heard me squawking
as the sun dropped into gray hills
and I knew darkness, like all things  
good, was nothing to keep.