THE NETS
with loose links
the nets divide
square parcels of sea
each forms a window
frames green depths
and muddied clouds
the blue fisherman
can’t see what’s trapped
when he tugs at the line
he’s cast his nets for ghosts
lost ones he hopes to haul
from an endless sleep
sometimes he mistakes
a reflection of the moon
for a drowned face
he goes down to it
puts his lips to its ear
as the water fills his mouth
begs forgiveness for all
the things he could not do
to spare it from oblivion
—from Rattle #15, Summer 2001
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