Here the old stone wall
straight and slate
follows down the property line

declines directly into the lake
stops submerged
deep and cold.

At this spot mid lake
between two campgrounds,
it’s said some very large

mouth bass 
prefer to lurk 
along the rocky divider

away from the pines
angling into the lake
for twenty years

victims 
of bark beetles
and dry rot.

Concealed from the gaze 
of bald eagles
drumming their talons

on crumbling branches
dozens of fish
slick as tongues

furtive with my lure
reel swimmingly
into a submersion

unreachable
and funereal,
a place so deep

these waters wait
to admit the leaning 
and the dead.

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