Invited to throw a line into the water, I did,
but honestly, I never expected you
to take the bait; once you’d done that
I had no alternative but to reel you in.
You fought, bending the rod right back
unto itself, running for the reeds,
thrashing against the insult of the hook,
not giving in until exhausted, and even then.
You smelt of river, dank and green,
and drowning. I saw your teeth.
Our eyes met, predator to predator
on the river bank. My hands shook.
Set again into the flow, you swam back
to your proper place in the scheme of things.