by your word

stretch out your hand
reach out through
the blind wall that surrounds
the sandy beach
in a snowstorm
that might or might not
be your innermost being
your heart: a fisherman
tired beyond description
of eternal washing of nets
dead fish and seaweed
rotten birds and shells
and plain simple dirt
tired of catching
the same fish again and again
of sales and failures
of the leaky boat and the rough
butts of the oars against your palm
your callused hand is all
you will need to penetrate
the blind transparent wall
closing you in on your blizzard
the heaven above
are also beyond
that enclosure within reach
from the sandy beach through
to the sunshine and him
who makes you fish again

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