A painted mallard made
of cork and floating true
and lying in the water, light
along the rippled evening is
calling to the calling drakes
from northern lake to
French Canadien sky.
And I
the Hunter lay in wait
and lie within the blind
which hides
along the whispered shore,
that shines reflections
of the gloaming
pouring into this days’ final chance
to prove that I transcend creation
with only crafty fabrication
of tools to duck my circumstance.
.jpg){kind=link}