Gone Fishing
If I could fish
off the edge of the world
I would catch
Space trout
the size of America
silver as stars
glittered with dust
a zillion years old
jumping and running and
swiping their tails
diving and turning
behind Jupiter’s moons
burying deep in the dark depth of space.
And if I ever reeled one in
to the world’s steep shore
I’d rest it so quiet
till its heart beat steady
then with its nose tipped to the current
I’d let it go
down that long wide river
to the edge of all things
and I’d follow it there
and know.. and know… and know.