Nov 5 · 1 min read

For Wesley
He cast the lure
Into the ocean.
A water he had dove,
Paddled,
Swam.
Wave spray
And sky clear above.
He reeled.
Sand, stand, statuesque.
A man,
Broad topped
And oak legged.
The line spun,
Curling in under
Ingenious hands;
Large, stern, tender
In the right spots.
Was there time or just air?
So well recognized,
To seize all else
And mend a man.
Such the things you understand.
Such the prints,
You laid in that pale sand.
Firm, with intent and intuition.
The lure you, sir, landed.
It’s ripples forever rung.
The fruitful waters of family,
And somehow too,
A taste of your sea.
