Morning Fishermen
morning fishermen wear hats
and warmer gear
as we rush to autumn.
poplars hoist their yellow flags;
saffron banners
and emerald’s memory.
there are a million mirrors
upon the river’s face
filled with summer’s audit.
changing times and promises
and newer things
and a great foreboding.
I’ve been away for 2 days
to make a buck
and she works this afternoon.
I am struck by how the place
is filled by her,
absent, though with promise.
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