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.