Trout about

... like spearing fish in deep water,

No, like
When I was six
Trapping tricky trout.
Barefoot, elbow deep
In an amber clear cold stream,
Fixed on the motionless wavering form.
Motionless both but moving, frozen.

It would be 36 years until I would think sushi beautiful edible art
And only now that I think that that trout was beautiful living art,

But I knew it
Even then.

Slipping hands,
Sliding nearer,
Shadow to shadow
Nearer,
Closer,
There!
Upsweeping jet of splashing flipping flop,
Water and fish arching onto the nearby bank.
The dying trout lie gasping on the primordial green grass
Of my youth. Me, the man, here, now
There the child boy and between
The attempt to capture
These lines...