Spring 1986 • Vol. VIII No. 2 A PoemApril 1, 1986 |

Deep Fishing

Poetry is like fishing,If you have six hooksOn a line one hundred feet down What you have to doIs wait for carp to strike,A mystery of no feeling. Haul up every half hour,Often the bright beingsAre there, colorful catch. You are way out in the ocean.Percy is showing you how to fish.In the distance is Egg Rock. Whether strike or no strikeThe ocean remains the same.It is careless of you. The ocean is the seaOf creativity, dark down deep,Memory is the line. A caught fish is a poemFrom the depths. SometimesThey come, sometimes not. The depths have made them virileIn their way. You are fishing,Poetry is possible. Fish die soon,Poetry may live,Ocean of imagination. Percy starts up the motor.If we go by Eagle Island lightWe'll be in by dark. Our boat was full of poemsThat timeless summer daySo long ago.

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