The Times Outside Of Time Poem by Smoky Hoss

We used to grab
the old cane-poles,
ancient even then
45 years ago,
dig up some juicy night crawlers
and right there, right then
bathed in sublime sunshine
we'd run down the dock
wearing nothing but
cut-off jeans, too big at the waist,
sit and fish.
Minnows nibbling our little toes
dangling in clear water
like fresh Lilly pads,
so young, so pure.
We never once
considered
that catching fish
was not why we were there;
we'd lie back on that
creaking wood dock
with poles motionless at our sides,
sleepy bobbers afloat,
and stare silent up
at the sweet baby blue sky;
carefree as clouds drifting above it all.
We had no desire to understand
the passing of time.

All these years later
no matter the place
no matter the time,
we'd trade it all in
to go back
to that ageless age
that had no clock
no calendar, no concerns pressing,
only the tug of small fish on cane poles
and great joy on hearts.