Feeding On Stars

The oldest trout are stargazers.

Like the clever specked astronomer

Who eluded me on Achigan Lake.

Who died, I like to believe, as he lived —

Of natural causes.

In water so clear and still

From the fish’s vantage the lake

And celestial expanse were without

Beginning or end, as if he could swim

High enough to become again —

A piece of stardust.

But he chose an alternate mission.

Spent a lifetime outwitting old

Fishermen, resisting the urge to rise.

Eyeing the circumpolar

Allure of the cosmos.

And so on our final orbit

The old trout must have stopped to admire

The galaxy one last time, refracted

Through the lake’s surface, thought

What if another trajectory before going

Weightless in the cold depths.

My lure spinning overhead,

Free of gravity somewhere between

The bottom and the stars.

The consummate cast,

A passing satellite.