Scott T. Starbuck

The Fishes He Caught

had faces of dead pilgrims.
They had arrowhead fins
and their eyes glowed
like coals on foggy nights.

They spoke in unknown tongues
like sounds of human voices
around distant campfires.

Their scales reflected silver coins
dropped in pond water, each with
the silhouette of a hanged man.

That night he dreamed of trout fishing
on his father’s lake
he caught these strange beasts
one after another.

He had no clue what they wanted
or why they took his bait.


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