GB ( / CANADA)

On Casting A Fishing Lure Into A Tree

The lure was hung in autumn's ocean-tree-
in air's upstream to reel the breeze right in.
A gust then washed currants down; poured sober sea;
for no lap-danced waves, (mermaids wet with sin!) ,
nor white-capped cads (gasp!) banging gorgeous shore
but this wind alone swam its dance to lynch
bait, stretched down more than blood-gowned mobs adore.
Then you could see barbed lure and stuck plug flinch....
But spring, skimming sky with dragonfly's wings,
fanned new view: never was lure since noted
again. Things disappear. Unhinged- wind swings!
(Below ivy surged and green sea coated) .
John Webster can't net the breeze that flies by.
Drown hooks sunk by tree! Down brooks dipped in sky!

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