we come from a long line of fisherman
generations and generations before

we wake in the angry dawn
emerging from humble cabins
like periwinkles caught in the tide

we wake as the first hazy evidence
of time moving forward

we are a wharf with no ships
just a makeshift rod and a rusty reel

we surrender to the emerald sea 
jeweled with celestial constilations
of seastars clinging to rock but

we challenge the sky
that burns tentatively orange 
between indigo and stone white

we cast to whip the wind
to reprimand the temperamental storms
to leave scars that fade into soft thin clouds

we cast to offer our gentlest favour
to the deep churning current

we pray for the gracious alms
to fill our mended nets
with merciful marlin and kingfish
a courtly school of herring

we reel in heartstrings lost at sea
generations and generations before
torn away by the damned winds
claimed by the ocean
ready to be hoisted ashore