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In
spring, we fish for halibut. In summer,
When grunion spawn at midnight in the surf,
We look for them on the sand to throw them back.
In winter, from the point, we cast beyond
The breakers to where the bass feed. Solar age
And mythic distance turn round the point’s ellipse.
Earth is dark. Air darkens. The moon is white.
Then, as if I were there, I watch us here,
Immensities of purpose barely visible
Intent upon the message in the line
Startlingly taut with sudden gravity,
Muscle and bone of the reflected light.
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