Rusted-out glaze smears through
ragged clouds and the crystal crusted
mountain echoes that rosy hue
marking a fresh beginning.
Leaning from the edge of his craft,
the gnarly purse-seiner
straightens stretched webs –
the net’s necklace strung with floats
rolling over into the icy sea;
the little skiff dragging it ’round to bridge the gap ‘tween.
The bottom now prepared to be sewn up tight as a purse,
boiling and shimmering with terrified sardines.
The blades of eel-grass nod
and bide time with our fisher;
waiting for a flood of the
incoming and phosphorescent tide .