Poetry Gong - Poem 3

Waves tease deep sleeping fish with promises of jetting flies. Flies give nothing away. Across the lake, a man in orange sends messages in calloused sign language. To receive a word, stick your nose in the west wind, smell fish intestines. Cock an ear, listen for the baby that is not a baby whining in the wind. Fence hinge, hindered owl, all alone silence carries its own weapon. Is the child drowning? Someone throw the child a rope. Ring it round the neck, reel it in. Fishing’s great here in the summer.


Tourists hug blind curves.
Country road bends like trout fin,
cars swim with fishes.

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Trying a haibun--a Japanese form of travel poem comprised of a prose poem and haiku.