Plucked right out of the sky,
a fish of largeness,
a bass,
and me,
not expecting this big.
All day,
I thanked the bass,
as it lay on ice,
in keeping.
Then me,
steaming and eating the fish,
imagining its life in this lake,
its body,
sleek scales in glinting flight,
water flight,
weightless,
like outer space.
And me,
pulling it
right out of its sky.
With every bite,
this fish,
now,
me.
This is their world: seagull in heightened flight, heron low skimming, geese flocked up close among lilies, loons in tremolo warning, snakes curled long absorbing heat. Among them now, barefoot and listening to Beethoven, first thing Sunday morning, and suddenly, all I want, is to be part of their world. Music off, breeze picking up, the lake is stirring now. There it is: their world, and me, thinking, and trying too hard, to find a way in. In a few days. In a few days, limbs and breath, in tranquil stretching, loose and deep, will be floating effortlessly, in our world. 
aneverydaypoet60 