Lost to the in-mind,
Eyes almost teary with exhaustion as city exhaust expends my already weary body, (... mind... soul!...)
I walked into the washroom at Tilley's travel emporium (you know those hats you see on Steve Irwin? The stereotypically Australian saucers with a tilt like a collision? Tilley hats. They were invented by the creator of this store.)

and it smells like you.

all my weary head can imagine

is your

midnight mouse

of a snore

and
       your

soft

       lava-stone skin

the solar system of freckles on your shoulders

the stars of

birthmarks

on your

      arm.

I say good night

as

    Canada

     tucks the 2 of us in

   for the last time


     until

    April.

Cold, crouched with hands numb
The light flickers and the wind cuts deep
Leaning over the warm glass globe
It provides heat and light
Pumping the fuel, building pressure
All is well when you hear the sound of a hissing Tilley lamp.

scouts turned on tilley lamps
as night encircled their camp

Clear-aquamarine water waves lap the beach
making small gurgling noises,
out in what should be the surf are
barely noticeable two-inch tall rolling waves,
there is no foam to be seen.

Bits of seaweed float in clumps here and there,
gulls work, a hundred yards out, diving and loudly laughing;
I am armed with khaki wading shorts and a coral Columbia shirt
along with a green Tilley hat and blue mirrored Costas,
a St. Croix rod and a Shimano reel.

Shuffle and slide my feet as I wade out chest deep,
the water's cool battles the early June sun,
at my left chest, a poking and jabbing feeling,
a shrimp spine, in my pocketful of live bait,
the smell of a meal, if the fish refuse to bite them.

The hook slides through the shrimps head
as it squirms in my hand, now ready,
I reach back and cast my lead weight,
taking the baited hook directly in the water
underneath the gathering cloud of birds.

I feel the bump as the lead hits bottom,
immediately a thump, thump, and a ****,
counting mentally three seconds pass,
I reel down and set the hook,
it bites in as the battle begins.

Leaping out of the water, fighting my attempts
at keeping it down, a large silver and spotted
sea trout pulls drag briefly before I get it turned,
I begin to back up into shallower water,
as I pull the fish towards me.

Ten feet away now, the fish makes a final jump,
as a huge swirl underneath it reveals a fin,
the heaviness on my line increases then reduces by half,
I continue to reel in my prize or what is left of it.
just the trouts head, vampire teeth shining in the sun.

Annoyed and with jitters, I re-bait and cast out
aware that a 6-foot bull shark roams these waters;
studying, I see a dark shadow heading back out
towards the splashing fish, and diving birds.
I patiently wait on another bite.