Pastoral

God must dwell in depths   for I throw to the shallows & I come back empty
& encumbered   I go down & lay deep lines   search amid dim night. 

In burrows dwell   a reddish-yellow toothed satan erodes a dam & a weight
comes upon soil   when waters low   I seen my want of strength.

A point pulled by weight   another point tied to a railroad spike   anchored
treble hooks hang heavy with bait

in mornings   we draw lines far if still & near if wind                     turtles latch

a tight line   axe & cast shells back to water                                 on good mornings
catfish whiskers

 dashed against skin   pliers pull sleek bodies   nails open gills & a slit

white fillets
to kitchen
skin
guts
head
to soil.

 Bream eat from loaves   & pull against a weight greater than their own
as the black eye opens into light
shadow

heart surges with tips of rod & sinks among schools
as my father releases into dark.

North wind blows against our backs   we sit on a gravel dam   across the pond
shadows shatter as stone to bread

poles pulse as the lines go taut slack   raise   then sink minnows.

Winds from the west are best               & winds from the south open the fish’s mouth.

We stoke embers   lay another oak limb & lightered knot   our evening fires

draw sap
singe
lines
tight

as a rainbow circles the moon   our boots plant in rutted soil   stringers fold
in the tackle box.                                                                         A sky so bright

we will make no catches.