Where are the ice floes? The rainbow
beneath the river film is tinted. Rocks
along the shore frosted with days ago snow.
Snap photographs into the deep pea.
Wonder if the fish are as confused as
stomach rumbles and days sleeping less.
Do they wonder where lures are?
Never. Tiny brains turned eyes to
horizon clouds are burst to haze and
rain that never kisses. Low pressure
coming. Get home. The concert is
starting. The fish will be listening too.
original works of parts
