Clayfeld Holds On

from “Clayfeld’s Farewell Epistle to Bob Pack”
 
            Beneath this mellow harvest moon,
I can still picture you—a boy content
just fishing with his father from a ledge
above a foaming stream. The flailing trout
you caught is packed in gleaming ice;
the pink stripe all along its side
is smeared across black shiny dots
that seem to shine with their own light.
            I’m sure that you can...