Blue Glass

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Of course that’s seen
behind a screen. The lake
by day is patternless gray,

the O of breath-stoked
mirror or a chain-smoked
sky, slim fingers

rising, as smoke lingers.
Anyway, it’s burning.

I’m still learning
to snap and send
and recommend

these shot-staggered
panes when how suddenly
strange it seems not to know

how at all to reach you
with even one of these
wide fish bellies

bumping up against
the screen.
Fenced-in,

penned, poor trout
keening, thrashing to get out.