I'll have to make it.
I'll find a little cabin by the lake.
Have some animals.
Goats, chickens.
A cat that prowls around.
And a dog that lays down.
I'll have a little gym set-up.
Free weights and places to hang.
There'll be a fishing pole.
With a box of lures.
Every evening I'll pull out
that box.
And pour over it a while.
Loot at all the lures and
dream of enticing new fish.
Then choose the same one as yesterday.
And yesterday's yesterday.

There'll be a little dock.
That's where I'll have my lawn chair.
And a fishing pole holder.
So I can write when I'm not watching
that bobber bob.

I don't know what I'll have to write about.
Everything will be okay.
It'll be a beautiful life.
Lived on a beautiful day.
That's setting.
Bringing a beautiful,
quiet, night.

Maybe, if I can't write,
I'll stumble off the dock
and check on my lure.
Give it a tug so my fishing pole
thinks there are still fish out here.

I'll hold my breath.
And appreciate this other place
that's mine.
The light rumble of windward waves.
The silence of everything living there.
And how like them I'm quiet too.

Not silent. Even in my dreams
my head is full of the trouble
I'm wading through now.
But maybe,
When I'm finally there.
My head will be empty.

Sinking slowly
Then shooting up.
All without a thought
to make a sound.
And spoil the beautiful,
underwater quiet.