The Winter Fishermen

On the jetty, a burst of song from within,
pitched against, the silence. In waders,
another hostage to patience stands on
the pedestal of his image, layered
with glimmering cloud. Small boats spiked with rods
cruise the river's peace or stay at anchor,
hooked into the depths, as still as those
living silhouettes, the feeding swans.
Light makes the most of itself at solstice,
finds new ways of being, chafes and simmers
on the stream as if risen from corners
of a gloom out of which the lucky ones
bring plump, twitching life, a fraught sleekness,
mandorla shapes buffed by the sun.