What a fisherman knows,
that life is watching water
losing focus as his pupils recede
back into his own water.
The cityman squeezes his
black spot tighter
against its glint, he makes a rock,
a pavement, over his well.
thinking to himself as his shoes
clack
"I am I am I am here I am there"
his lips smack the prayer.
And the fisherman holds
a steady bamboo and line
to plumb the deeps of his green mind.
nov 3, 08
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