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Manner of bend, the new night time,
earlier now, cooler, moon pounding.
We stand looking at the wide sky over a harbor
as ships tack and bend the several parts of civilization
into public, the space to which we refer,
small victories of agreement, a civil reddening.
I'll commit to that, indiscriminate, increasingly Gospel,
leaning on the barrier, nearly diving into the harbor
which won't be sea for several miles.
Red evidence of curve, reach, stretching all out
as kids swing fishing rods, cast and attend
to another rod, laughing, impressing the girls,
who are laughing. A tenable now, immersed in churned waterway
and calling to a transient population. What is it exactly
we plan to do? For each reel, extension to ground,
there is line, float, disruption of surface,
bait, hook, essential taut agreement of our skin,
of where we're going, of everything
we're not saying, a silent departure, a translucent rise.
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