An Old man Catches a Fish then dies - L. Myers

The old man awakes at the same time
every morning
half blind, he does it the same way,
patting, gently, the head of the orange
cat who sleeps in a chair of
wicker
And he finds a dead bird
sitting on his porch and he puts it into the
cats bowl for him to be grateful towards
as he goes inwards; his jacket and leather hat
mummers a silent prayer for the day
chopping his kindling and tending to his
hogs
checking the hen houses with a pair of eyes
 milky and obtuse like that of a
sparrow, after
wandering the acreage of his love and childhood
and his dead wife
he grabs the guitar sowed within the shed
and plucks a few chords
just for an hour or so alongside
the rain hitting the rooftop
slowly, at first, then heavier
“Pissin’ harder than a cow on a flat rock,”
says he
to no one
but everyone in the world laughs
staring at a fogged reflection
on a sliver of glass hung upon a nail as he
straight razors his scalp completely
he sees the sunlight coming from the clouds
as it rains and I’ve been told
the devil is beating his wife
soon
Soon,
Soon the hen houses, the shitter, etc, the
mailbox
itll be mangled together with rope
so he’ll know where to go
with knots that are cared for and crafted
delicately as if they were made by a
sailor
The river rises and
undulates, shining like a carp, as he stands watching it
from his porch 
wondering where he’ll put his turnips
for the year
plotting with the only salvageable eye
the likened organ
as he whittles a figure and then prepares himself
for bed
he configurates
the orange cat asleep underneath a moving bridge of
dreams, with black birds
mocking one another
and the old fellow dreams
of the fish never caught 
eyes like nickels
swimming with peace
through the trees and into the
street in the morning
with no noise
whatsoever as the old man
dies within his sleep
suspended within the rafters
of a thought.