The one-eyed cat astride the window sill
stares in with gaping hole and good green eye
at a crumpled man, prostrate on a couch -
amongst hope-filled dreams and thread-bare pillows.
Dreams of spotted fish and creek-bank willows,
cold, clear mountains and hard, jagged waters –
glory holes – places days and years from here.
Today’s sad, sweet song long lost on downstream.
The current grows and swells his West-bound dream,
surging and plunging and enveloping.
The wounded man astride the narrow board
stares on with gaping hole and good green eye.