Trouts in the Southern sunset

Trouts in the Southern sunset

The thread was floating smoothly like a neglected man
at the liquid mirror of cloudy sky.
Nobody had warned him
in his simple condition of substance
that a life being had stretched him out to another one
by a cruel unilateral pact
something that really was not a pact
between an agitated world
for only one hundred thousand years of history
(something that seems a failed experiment:
each years seems to confirm this fatal
intent of nature)
and the liquid and elemental universe
that has millions of subtle episodes
assembled in each drop of water:
besides, it remits to the first times
not to the later one
of this great theater
the loose threat finished at a hook
in the middle of the Pre Historical Patagonian landscape,
where the big trouts still continue
because everything is immutable
and they still continue
like sunsets that are very far away
with the same perpetuity
that has a flee that falls

Plop!
into the water

a hard mouth that emerges from the depths
and brings forward its armed jaw towards death
or the life that we change in death.
Does a sudden leap of mind fits into
a brilliant insight that emerges from the waters,
something that warns that the same life
is in one extreme and another of the loose thread ,
being endangered by the following act,
one like the other, being in danger
being always in danger by a determination
based in custom?
The same dangerous custom
of man and of the trouts
and then, this picking up of the thread
and breaking the rod on the knees
throwing away the reel
the baits, the boots
returning without anything to the hut
for ever without anything of these precious innocent lives
without anything of this wide liquid universe
forever safe
at least one of us.

And the landlord of the hut
when seeing me from far away
judged me a fool.