Fishing

In the predawn, a baby is heard crying.

The soft glow of lamplight complements

the distant white starlight, as secrets

and intimacies are cast out 

into the sky's quiet expanse.

People meet in dark alleyways

bump into each other 

in unexpected corners

coming together slowly

coalescing under candlelight

sometimes appearing a bit strange

a bit, surprised, in each others company.

As the sun warms up the distant 

horizon into a dark gray

they make their way to the docks

walking tall in darkness

huddling under what light there is

hearts quiet in their noise

feet shuffling their way onto boats

boats rocking out into the cradle of the sea.

And all along the shorelines

the yellow glow spreads outward

and the people

they cast out their hearts like bait

on double pronged hooks

waiting for a bite

trolling for a shudder-

a shake of their line

something, anything

to beat the tranquility.
*

For years, I have enjoyed 

the catches of my heart.

For years, I have tried

little by little

to unfasten this heart 

from these hooks
to little avail.

One day
I will let go of my line
cast myself into the water
and the rust can take the hooks
and my heart can seep into the sea