freedom of fishermen

free us like fishermen

leave us bound only to our nets,

cradled in the waves, 

the night sky falls like a blanket and

you smile at all the constellations stitched intricately into it

"what great hands it must take to thread 

these stars throughout the heavens," you say

"to raise our sun above the mountains each morning

so its rays may gently kiss our heads"

and in these mornings, bathed in blonde light

we lay still

atop the splintering wood planks of this ramshackle boat you

constructed with your own two hands

the sky beyond is speckled with cotton ball clouds 

that drift with us as we,

slow-breathing heaps of flesh, damp with sweat

or perhaps

the heavy humid air,

find our peace within all the wild,

this calamity we are!

we are becoming, in this new day

as we cast out our debts,

alongside our nets

and seek answers in the used up prayers

we reel back in

always with heavy eyes,

weighted with nights of searching,

because we don't need dreams where we're headed

the waking world is harsh enough

and here,

we fish for hope in a river of empty promises

and here,

we mourn far too many losses

we're just living on the borderline

of deep-throated sorrow

and a heart

kissed with sunlight, an imprint left

by God's lips

a sticky coat of cherry red lipstick

washed over that same heart

and these days

your head spins like a weathervane 

in the middle of a snowstorm

and you stop to think

maybe we are all a little clouded here