the caught fish

as the fish

rises out of the river,
pulled heavy

on my line. I feel
sympathy for him.

the prickly silver hook
caught in his jaw, the awful

air suffocating his
lungs.

he stiffens in  panic
wanting to be back in the water
he was born in.

the blue sky more blue
than

he ever was aware.
what life is this, to be out

here, he thinks,
as I twist the hook from his mouth.

I mourn for his life.
his beauty, the pattern of his
scales

a work of art,
his small heart

heaving towards the distant sun.