Fishing

sometimes
you put out your hand
to touch someone,
to feel
their throbbing heart,

sometimes
you just want to
break through
that fragile ice,
not to feed yourself
but to know,
that somewhere
between
two shifting edges
is a space
where there is
only water,

where
you're not fishing
for fish,
and yet
your beak
returns empty,
without fish
or water, or
sometimes,
with a tattered
forgotten shoe
dripping with water.

sometimes
you just go fishing,
and smile
for having spent
a morning
just watching
and feeling into
the still waters.