catfish in the hole

In darkness 

a serenity; no one to holler

me, only the trenchish sea-bottom

of darkness: of the morning that is night,

the 2am singing, soft, sweet

over sycamore leaves. The churchyard

wilted, the county fair a fistful of trash,

the river silt 

swallowed by a catfish in the hole,

his belly yellow-white, ripe thankful

with fat, with flesh, possibly also

screwdrivers, penknives and paper clips, 

edges of an ancient Budweiser can; 

he loves the night, too, and my papa

sets out hooks for him. (Night: hookful 

thing, not hateful.) The night is true

love: no holler of life here 

smoking up the corrugated 

corridors of my brain, no 

encircling black birds, no tripwires,

only darkness, darkness 

without ire, envy or lies: only the truth 

of the moon, shedding light,
the catfish in the hole, 
river cat
sucking river silt.