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Impurities are the Weight of Water When the wetted line between my fingers yipped, then jumped, then sang, I sunk the hook in accidental certainty it wasn’t a glossy rock or sodden stick I’d bumped but, a salmon-red coho. And, for the first time, I popped my head back then lit the river with “fish-on” so lines around me could snick home to their reels misting droplets of mud green water: so fine they lost their texture, so fine they lost their green memory, so fine they spun reel rainbows, so fine they remembered purity. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Lennard J. McIntosh On Date: 2004-08-01 23:12:53
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 8.93750
RE: "Impurities are the Weight of Water"
Here is a writer who obviously knows the workings of the pure sport of fishing - trolling in
this instance. The exacting details making up the poem go a long way to make the poem;
the rhythme and strucure look after the rest. This is excellent work!
Len McIntosh