Friends

We talked about thread quills, woolly buggers, fire starters
and how it’s best to wait until spring for a new line,
since cold water can crack the casing.

We talked about dry flies and gink,
casting at eleven downstream,
waiting for the kick,
the dead stop,
the strip set.

You taught me the basics of fly fishing on that float trip
a full day, a birthday gift.

You gave me flies and a wealth of knowledge,
and in between, I watched you move through heartbreak
toward self-discovery.

Now you’re moving to another state,
and I feel the small sadness of loss.

But I’ll see you again in Montana,
when we both find the time.