yearning fingers
pumping sticky blood
swelling like strawberries in May
grabbing lines and hooks
learning to play
a treacherous game
involving hearts and breaths
and whispers of air

crying over spilled dreams
holding on to broken handshakes
I was always just a little mad
a little scared

the fish are biting
and so is the day
all sharp and sugar white
the first pinpricks of rain
dancing in the hay