The Fisher
Look at this: We’ve become a high-class Arts Journal!
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Music photographed by Jo Cavanagh
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The Fisher
Morning silence, kindled
By an eastern instant, hours past,
Pours through trees, through echoed
Stillnesses, and falls
A silent stream and long across the lake.
A boat appears; gently
Slaps the silence on its center course.
Then the quiet lifting
Of the oars; the rippling drip;
Flies waving weightless from the cornered rod—
While fisher, hooks in hat and all,
Slips, act on quiet act, down
Till, fathoms deep, drowsy melodies
Strike a one-string net
That sings of satisfaction
And of centuries of catch.
Gene Cavanagh
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A tip of the artist’s beret to the both of you!
Gratefully,
BuFoon Steve
