A gentle grip on this pale,and hatching morning.
Resting in a hook keeper, with just a few more trails to tread.
Seems the perfect hour to watch the spinners fall,
and dream their brilliant wings, into the distant, liquid night.
Blameless, and unblemished ideals reflect in ambitious eyes,
scanning each ripple, and rise, below the flawless surface.
With nothing left to do, but wait, and contemplate.
Anticipate each slight, and tender draw, as you easily drift,
and find yourself caught between a rock, and a hard place.
It seems there are no more fish in the sea.
© Carla, 2011
