A man staring at a small lake sees <br />His father cast light line out over <br />The willows.He's forgotten his <br />Father has been dead for two years <br />And the lake is where a blue fog <br />Rolls, and the sky could be, if it <br />Were black or blue or white, <br />The backdrop of all attention. <br /> <br />He wades out to join the father, <br />Following where the good strikes <br />Seem to lead.It's cold.The shape <br />Breath takes on a cold day is like <br />Anything else--a rise on a small lake, <br />The Oklahoma hills, blue scrub-- <br />A shape already inside a shape, <br />Two songs, two breaths on the water.<br /><br />Ralph Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fishing-in-winter/
