i.
three in the afternoon, he
sees himself in clumsy knots
of nerves running from hook to
pole fishing close to murky
strands of lakeweed cloudy and
soft like his memories of her.
ii.
three in the afternoon, she
traces patterns in the bracelet
on her arm he placed gently moons
ago firm like painful memories
seeping through the beads
she can’t seem to remove.
iii.
he doesn’t know who
who he's fishing for anymore
she doesn’t know what
what she's waiting for anymore
carry on, darling
carry on.