A fisher boy sits on a dock
Crouched and humble he kisses his lure with a blasphemous sensuality
His back in the sun bakes like bread
As the mile long hands of light tenderly tan his hide

His hands reel me in from my endless pit
translucent strings of boy saliva and fishers thread, weaves beneath my flesh

I wish to be like him
Sleeveless
Sexless
And surrounded by wet

A hook reaches me, propelled by his eyes into mine

Who are you to catch me like this??
his finger in my mouth, shaped like a sickle

I want to go back in my home

Spaced between sky and clouds and their liquid counterpart

I look to the right and see nothing anymore
The left holds me not
A dog barks at nothing and so do I

                      * * *

I look back to the ground, to my own body and my own ***.

The fisher-boy now distant and unknowing casts his hook.
He does not look at me.

I call up my friend later, and send them a picture of a lake
And say with yearning in my heart

“Just look how big the water is”