Wooden skull on a cold sea shoulder,
Rib bones waist deep in a wash
In white hair, white beard foam.
Once rowed when a sea was low, fringing
The spine of rocks and dusk deep
An old man fisherman now walks the Kingdom’s
Border, exiled to a shelter bed,
He defied questions
He defied the holy book.
Father in heaven, I gazed unhindered
Into depths of blue,
Dropped the silver thread line with bait, I breathed
Kettle of fish thickened in my sight,
Caps with white waists
Spread a tinted fin.
Knotted, caught, I kneeled in the iceboat;
Falling, falling in a trough,
Slim pointed gulls drooping behind.
Tugged the oars, shivering hands; smooth tipped blades
In cresting waves.
Careless of me to a thundersnow — crowded down
In a jostling thick, far from
A land; the cold made me slumber, a piteous state.
When time had lapsed to a sea
In a floating tide flowing stretched to a shore,
My tears plashed amidst
The billowy sand, a sadness veined in my soul.
Copyright © 12/19/17 lance sheridan®