Reverie on the River

My Reading of the poem
Reverie on the River

Where the road to the river fades out of view
a rustling sound, the kind invisible deer make
is what I heard in the melting light;
The forest bedding-down everywhere else.

A small fir laden with cones
rustling momentarily where the trees
cover the bank, some late swimmer
rising right there for a quick meal

(Or my imagination playing a devilish trick?)
silver-side rolling over, soon to rise
it turns on its back, letting
the dry fly take it where it wishes

beyond the last riffling eddy
to where the pool settles
clear as the water over its silver fins
in the solitary night, solitary deep;

Passing clouds like curling cigarette smoke
even the wood owl oddly withdrawn
While I strained to hear a splash
Or glimpse it rising to the sumptuous offering

and when I did not; I just listened-
The same noise through the branches
Still tricking me now and then
until the wood owl’s cry awakened me.