Take a Break Try Fishing

GOING FISHING

Venturing abroad
I discovered one of those bright, clear, fresh
Days,
One of those
Wind like the will coming straight and cold
From the center of the Ocean's eye
Days
One of those whitecaps all the way to the sky
Days 

Not conscious of walking,

Of legs, of muscle and sinew working,
But conscious of motion,
Of flowing by buildings, persons, scenes,

(The horizon, a magnet drawing me)
I moved to the path over sand and sea.
Then something I could but faintly hear
Beneath the sound of surf and rush of wind,
Something subtle, not quite clear
Calling, urging--
Pulled me down the pier.

Ten minutes moving from city to sea
Five minutes to the end of the pier
Where even the sea seemed to disappear,
Leaving simply the light, the space
And the flowing cold wind.

Between his two railed poles,
An old fisherman was standing
Peering into the wind
I stood there on the end of the pier
A bit apart from him.

He gave no notice of my being there.
And after a moment I heard it again.
Faintly, under the wind,
It was saying, "Listen, listen."

Listening it seems
Absorbs the Light, fills the space
And for a time even stills the wind.
And- oh-
I was amazed that I could hear
The stillness in the Wind.

The Wind blows keen on the end of the pier,
Keen and cold, and though the Vision is clear
The eyes blur.
Eternity is only a moment.

Turning to go, I noticed the old man
Still standing, still listening, still still.

It takes practice to fish
From the end of the pier.

Tom Carney
9/20/13