153 Fish
Imagine, waiting for inertia on
a long, dark night in a small wooden boat.
a long, dark night in a small wooden boat.
A hollow emptiness licking the waves
A low fog breathing over the gray water.
A low fog breathing over the gray water.
If
dawn broke, red and raw, it would seem like
years since the men had set out and what had
sent them was withered. So at first light when
the tall thin man stood on the beach waving
his hand like a flag or forgiveness or
hope, his words lifted up like small sea birds
soared across the choppy swells. Bonfire
blazing like a warm heart on the wet, stick
of sand. So that of course when they cast their
wide rope net it filled and filled and filled.
years since the men had set out and what had
sent them was withered. So at first light when
the tall thin man stood on the beach waving
his hand like a flag or forgiveness or
hope, his words lifted up like small sea birds
soared across the choppy swells. Bonfire
blazing like a warm heart on the wet, stick
of sand. So that of course when they cast their
wide rope net it filled and filled and filled.
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