the trout - john montague lyrics
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flat on the bank i parted
rushes to ease my hands
in the water without a ripple
and tilt them slowly downstream
to where he lay, tendril*light
in his fluid sensual dream
bodiless lord of creation
i hung briefly above him
savouring my own absence
senses expanding in the slow
motion, the photographic calm
that grows before action
as the curve of my hands
swung under his body
he surged, with visible pleasure
i was so preternaturally close
i could count every stipple
but still cast no shadow, until
the two palms crossed in a cage
under the lightly pulsing gills
then (entering my own enlarged
shape, which rode on the water)
i gripped. to this day i can
taste his terror on my hands
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