Fishing In Connecticut

Under the setting sun
whose reflection on the water
was as flat as a vinyl placemat

katydids drenched us
with yearning thought
drowning out the teardrops
of air sucking bass and
lily padded frog plops.

Before dumping our bait
fry turned into a milky fog

the only one that got away
was a mud-filled coffee can
we recycled to the lake.

It was an epilogue to summer
closeted the way one stores
sunbaked summer clothes
but parked in a car trunk
full of tackle inner tubes
metal stringers and summer ghosts.