Meeting Jackie

Babbling in sunlight, lisping alluvial flows,

a bend we called the "Crook", undercuts

the far bank, where leaning ash and willows

disperse the light through leafy petticoats.

I'm mid-stream, immersed in silver-lined

libations, glinting luminous slips and spills,

before the "Crook" deepens. Half blind

from the glare, I hardly see Jackie who calls

in wild surprise, to see our childhood dance

about my fly-line's mend and backward loop

in the holy streams of home. To meet by chance,

below the Burngibbagh where salmon leap -

I blink our moment back before she bustles

away behind the salley's summer rustles.