The hesitation makes sure the line
is out flat, fully extended before the cast.
I watch my life for signs I’m
learning to slow down, to wait to hear
the snap as the line goes out behind,
the signal that it’s time to pull ahead.
Not quite enough pause here where I’m
ready or imagine that I am and strike
out bold inside like the mare pacing the fence,
so full of her heat that she'd cross any line
without a thought, without a moment's hesitation.
Let the line hover and drop smooth and light,
just enough movement, the thought,
not at the hand but distant at the rod’s
tip, and still sometimes the line flies out surprised
at where it lands. Here is where I need
to be the lake held back at the bridge
seeping through in slender lines, smooth
yet deliberate, in flow with the direction
of the current, whitened
in the surge, nothing can stop it then.
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