An Afternoon

I remember being sprawled on the dock, belly down,
tick-tocking my feet to ground, to sky,
and watching as you let the reel turn a transparent thread
into turgid pond water.

With ease you pulled the line back to-
such grace,
slick and trusting.
Intrigued, my eyes bobbed as the lure
dove and exposed itself silently.
Even the reeds leaned in, curious;
even the water's ripples lingered to witness
the catch.

Then, without warning, the line took.
Your hook pierced.
I drew and released
the air.

And I still recall how the creature fought,
how you leaned down and sweetly kissed its wounds.