A soft walk upon the leaves
a listening for the dog under trees
while cat and fox squirrels watch us listen.
I feel the pull of a trawler's ropes
the need to watch the water boil
the expectations of the pocket
the need to see sea-hogs roll
the pain of hard-head fins buried in thumbs.
The murmur of the preacher is drowned
by the buzz of a mercury seaching
for a spot to fish.
I watch the cork bobble
until it is jerked out of sight
by the preacher urging me to reach down
for a bit ground and toss it to my father.