Belief

Tussock and root earth us
hugging ground in undergrowth;

tented by bole and bark
beneath a gauze of leaf-light.

A sibilant wind-hush
and the river's blabber

ease us into waiting
for visionary tug or pull.

Johnny and me supine
in our snug gap of riverbank

divining the unseen salmon
from quivering rod-tip.

I create its reality from conjecture,
a pure sensing.

Incredulous you all astonishment
to see me strike into weight:

behold the cutting line,
surface boil and glinting swirl.

Old friend of my lost faith,
if only I could part the seas again.