Saturday, April 13, 2024

Fishing Dreams


a quiet fog lays on the ground
hiding the tree where, as a boy,
I leaned against while fishing.
it was a large gentle tree with
soft bark, many limbs with a
preponderance of large leaves,
offering shade on those days
that the sun rose hot and rose
early giving us all the time in
the world to imagine being in
head boat on the outer banks
reeling in the blues as they
swam in schools even though
there was no school for us...
living in past memories,
living in caged dreams,
and remembering...
older and wiser we claim to be
or so we tell ourselves,
convince ourselves of stories
some of which never happened,
none ever remembered correctly,
but we were boys then and
thoughts rocked our minds
and our imaginations...
now we remember what we can
creating the dreams never had.


April 6, 2024




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