Broken Line - Art Ó Súilleabháin

He had been fishing with three flies for the first time

cast in a dignified loop behind his head,

made the ‘whishing’ sound that indicated all was right.

Let the wind run the line through the rings.

The noise was true and the fly line landed,

no splash disturbed the wave, with the one o’clock

eleven o’clock, stop and drop, that catapulted just right

onto the lake surface, enticed the fish to rise and take.

A momentary lapse of concentration ruined the mantra,

a line tangled, settled into itself, cracked against the rod,

broke the spell, split the nylon and rippled onto the lake.

I wanted to disentangle it for him, to build a new leader,

but that had to be done by the tangler, to learn a lesson,

to engage his mind in repair and rebuild, to undertake

the act on water, in the drift of mind and wind and wave.

I thought of times when I broke a forgotten repetition

of living, of wanting too much, and awareness

broke an unseen rhythm, kinked some deep thoughts

into a disarrangement that unsettled life’s patterns.

A fish rose to my fly, a Claret Bumble with a touch of flash,

Eytan put away his rod to ready the net. The trout played,

twisting and running, and I relaxed into flow, again.

for Eytan

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Art Ó Súilleabháin (20th century) Ireland

Source: The High Window Issue 8, Winter 2017