In This Manner

The shadow of a single cloud
Flows like black smoke over the slope
Of brownish-green and ochre oaks.

The wind is just that strong today.
Two men in a metal rowboat,
Both bundled in hooded parkas,

Drift, fishing, around the low pond,
And the whole scene reads like some kind
Of westernized reenactment

Of the nostalgic Chinese scrolls
Depicting a lone fisherman
In inks outlining the season,

Most often winter or autumn,
As it is here, now, and never
Will be in this manner again.