Fishermen at Night
So many lights, scattered
like forget-me-nots across the dark sea.
They could be reflected stars
but the sky is clouded over. The sun,
like an old fox, has disappeared
into its dark den, and the moon has yet
to creep over Cristianitos Ridge.
Do the men on those little boats
call out to each other
in encouragement, do they argue
about who took the best spot, banter
about the Dodgers’ last game?
I have faith in fish and in the multitude
of creatures that live beneath membrane
of the ocean. Little boats, just past the breakers,
it matters what you catch,
it matters that fishermen get older
and their faces change.
Previously published in Muddy River Poetry Review
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