On the Feast of St. James the Greater
(for Joe C.)

This is where
he would have fished

I imagine
him in the dark

gathering gear
stripers transfiguring 

the moon’s
light he loses 

all balance and
bearings thunder 

muffling the dry
night sky

what he heard
is in the mist 

blowing over
Ram Island 

disappearing
like walks 

we’ll never take