Thursday, August 16, 2018

Go Fish

The work is never done. The drive home the same.
Listless dreams. Fabric gashes.
Dulled, weary, the suburban parade, 
I wait for a break.

Mini van, mini van, Camry sedan. Range Rover, Ford truck, Toyota Sequioa. 
I wait, my turn. 
Endless stream. Metallic flashes. 
I see you.

Shouldering sloppy backpacks, grasping poles, youth-cheeked joy
Boys on a sidewalk.
This place.
Blinding winter sky, streaked with cloud, blue and orange.
Red, champagne, gray, black and white car by car by car.
All the colors of the world
Planning their grand escape.

The boys. They hold the blaze.
My heart.

It's fishing.

Banking on forgiveness
Bemoan decaying sun
The toil
This promise. 
This day possible. 

The longest day. 
From notion to noon to the last eternal hour. 
Tick, tick, tick, from wall to the bell, her ring. 
I've known it. 
The rod in hand. 
It's everything.

The release.
My heart. 
Caught in a long cast back.
Rust of hook. Slimy finger tips.
Sinewy wrist. Bones, muscles, tendon. 
Crook of arm. Fleck of sweat. Line of sight.

Wind. Reflection
Break the space.
Sound to silence.
Cast the horizon.
Air to water.

Immutable disturbances. 
Broken space.
Silver to fish. 
Catch a fish. 
Air to water.

Breath to bone. 
Back again.
It isn't that I haven't 
It's that I forgot.

To fish.
We must never stop.

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