At the confluence of the Delaware
and the Little Delaware I fished
without result.
I cast my lure time
after time into the
tumult.
My friend threw flies. I
threw a Phoebe, until
evening called a halt.
We talked about Nothing:
Zen and Gorgias.
The darkness dwelt.
The bats fluttered. The
stars poked thru a vast
fabric like a quilt.
—Kirby Olson
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