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.