the cold lake fish

i see the old

man,

sitting on a can,

pulling a fish out of the cold

lake,

more blue

than the sky.

there's a feather

in his cap.

he's neither happy

or sad

with his catch.

i think he's done this

before.

i watch him as he unhooks

the silver fish

from his line

and throws

it back.

it's a satisfying splash

as he sits

back down,

and once more casts.