Just out of reach, an untamed phrase,
a wildcat word, an uncribbed melody, teases
my churning brain, till I remember
how my father caught a fish without a line,
without a hook.
Letting go, he said, is all it takes, a loosening
of time, the sinking of an anchor, breath
by breath, till everything within, steadies,
rocks gently in the swell and pulse
of your blood. Only then can you slide
your hand into the sleeve of the stream
let the water lick your skin, let it move
your fingers like strands of weed.
Wait, see how the stream skitters,
how mirror fragments form and separate,
how a leaf, sealed to the surface, passes
an overhanging branch, and disappears.
Wait till a shadow bruises the depths
you feel flesh against flesh
then curl your fingers into a cage,
lift the bright sliver into the light.
from ‘Pull of the Earth’ 2016 published by IDP