The Net
She is like a fisherman, in reverse
Letting out what the sea was
Behind each knot in the net
Fingers growing numb at the tiny work of it all
The undoing
Lost in the twisted complexities
That she herself put there, tied in, tightened with salt
The waves resound in their erosion
The tide removes as much as it leaves behind
A steady pattern in the days
No two shorelines alike but patterned nonetheless
She breathes the air
She does the work
She pulls apart the rope, the memories, the debris
Bits of twine and hair and threads lay over the dunes
Discarded to the wind to waver and settle
As if to see what is left, what is hers alone
The pile of scale and bone at her feet, what stays
She knows the only way to finish the endless task
Is to let her hands take over the tangle
Let her mind leave it
Only the gulls call her back
Only the sunrises feel like a promise
~2JAN19
Letting out what the sea was
Behind each knot in the net
Fingers growing numb at the tiny work of it all
The undoing
Lost in the twisted complexities
That she herself put there, tied in, tightened with salt
The waves resound in their erosion
The tide removes as much as it leaves behind
A steady pattern in the days
No two shorelines alike but patterned nonetheless
She breathes the air
She does the work
She pulls apart the rope, the memories, the debris
Bits of twine and hair and threads lay over the dunes
Discarded to the wind to waver and settle
As if to see what is left, what is hers alone
The pile of scale and bone at her feet, what stays
She knows the only way to finish the endless task
Is to let her hands take over the tangle
Let her mind leave it
Only the gulls call her back
Only the sunrises feel like a promise
~2JAN19