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.
