Poem: “Fishing”

I.

Sitting along the bank with my grandfather
Fish sleep
High noon heat
Cloudless, bleached rocks
Perfect time for words
Or none
Shore rings lake, topics circle
The Divine

II.

Sensing siesta’s end 
Returning to shallows, He baits a simple bee moth
Palatable bait 
For palatable fish
Forgot the basket
Strung by gills, bluefins stack up
Breaded, fried, palm-sized fillets
Dinner for sure

I stay in the deep
Pole planted, pungent chicken liver
Softly reposed in mud
Unbroken surface
Any moment the tip bends
A catfish’s wild bucking against the reel
Or the line-breaking pressure of a bass
Don’t doze

III.

Guts litter the grass
Byproducts of God’s bounty, unnecessary evolution
Consume only the distilled
Strip humanity from the Word
Bright blood
Deepens into a claret with the glorious setting of
A sun, too short-lived
Community and sustenance from ritual
An agape feast