Where is this hard line?
Through forest, over hill,
And across water I’m told
By the old men, gathered along
The river bar, waiting years for a fish
To be caught so they might move on
To the open fields to spend their days
Released from those toils.
That thin, frail string stretched
Through dark woods, and
Mirroring the sky,
Where the hard line of a storm
Challenges a stale afternoon.
The jagged line of rocks against water,
And the silent boils, softening a long seam
Where currents meet, reunited:
Partnering again in their purpose
As they explore a single winding path
To the place where land ends
And the great depth of the sea begins.