She has fallen out of love

When he felt the cloud kiss his cheek
that morning at the pond, and the boys
wouldn’t hush, and  it didn’t matter
as he cast and cast around his fly,

flying mobius band of glinting light,
he didn’t know his wife would cry
in bed that night: she feels caught.
He would carefully listen

and carefully respond
as eleven years have taught.
She would hold her forehead
with her palm in the dark.

She would tell him all the muddy
catfish snags of her love,
all but the one that would snap
the line, rip the hook from her heart.