Goodnight To You For Being Fisherman

Scrawled along the side of the S.S Fate Of Young Nick
 "the sleep" played softly

then went back to sleep

 the orchestra of broken stars, an orphaned wave unlike the others, the push the sea needed

 the word    'it happened quick'

weeds thick with touch

for some time planning

 the need to be free

promise them when you get there

or are you promising too much?

the trouble in Old Nick

was in the reeling of his fish

deeper down, though, in feeling a wish  

and the trouble with the canvass though it couldn't blow away like the compass, looking both ways

is the great trouble in a likeness depending on darkness

  in the naked truth

when it comes out to play
provides the currency for believing in and believing it could pay 

the immeasurable distance, all the rest, uneven the boat's tip, warned never to cast

 made to choose between, but that's enough, warned never to be there, at last!

that's why the canvass

covered thick with ringed blackness 

shaped this shadow 

faced forward

and beyond is a pond is beyond

the beyond.