|August 2001 / Volume Two / Issue Two|
For David Bates
We are both two parts hydrogen
One part oxygen. Current kicking our
Cans down this crystal path. The fishermen
Come for us to bless them. Sink their hooks
Down, think of their wives or mothers. Or
The old days when a fire in their belly meant
Something. We are unconvinced of
Destiny, immune to the drowning of age.
Our path is circular and perpetual
Reinventing the shape and form of earth.
Dragging sandstone in our wild bitter hands.
The fishers come for bass or trout.
We feed them carp and bluegill
No sympathy, only acceptance.
They find resolve in the fish's short
Flailing gasp of death. This is not in
Malice or sport. The carp reemerge in them
Quenched of recklessness.
Just as we will live in miles ahead
Starving for the expanse of salt, dolphins,
To run our heads in the prickly
Shape of coral.
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