Catching Intimations of the Real

fly fishing river runs

I flycast in my mind
though I don’t know
how to fish that way
for steelhead trout
or salmon… I sense
flicking in my wrist
and forearm…know it like
an amputee feels
phantom memory.

For meaning swims the
currents in my brain,
and there I cast to satisfy
a craving…for authenticity,
much like Diogenes in Athens
lit lanterns in bright daylight
to live a point of searching
for an honest man.

And so I fish experience,
line reel it out…
rod bow it back
to feel a certainty
not to exhaustion,
that I’m casting…and
I’m catching intimations
of the real.


Bonnie Marshall

Photo: A River Runs Through It

10 thoughts on “Catching Intimations of the Real

  1. Bonnie… When I read your poetry I am hearing a truly “American voice”. It’s rare. My god…lately it’s so rare. I think Emerson’s jaws ache from smiling.

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