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
A beautiful poem
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