Like a circling Osprey, discerning. 
Turbid water boils.
Stone fly's of pale yellow, 
emerge from riffles..

Under the Grass moon,
Salmonoids rise.
From bridge to their lies.
Hiking, I anticipate them.
Splash.
I cast,
Splash.
Another charges,
then into my net, 
landed.

On broken water,
again and again, we, 
fish and I, repeat. 
This sacred dance countless times.

http://tonysalpenglow.blogspot.com/2014/04/yuba-ku-4-19-2014.html