Water #2: Fishing

The fisherman looked up and grinned,
  "You think it's that simple? Good, sin?"
The gulls overhead cried, so forlorn,
  "Tide goes down, tide comes up?"
He flicked his wrist, cast, the birds cried.

Yellow sun, brick house, piano:
Where'd the light escape, gradients;
Venus, the broken lamp burnt out.

        —Black, black,
        Dark, dark—

  "Must be nice, everything black and white,"
The fisherman wore a bright yellow hat,
He sat in his steel canoe, the birds circled,
  "Must be nice, figuring out the universe,"
The grey waves collided against the rocks.

Picturesque scene, garden walk, sculpture:
Why'd the sounds all cease, buzzes;
Phoebe, the battery walkman died away.

        —Quiet, quiet,
        Silent, silent—

The fisherman coughed and sneezed,
A raindrop fell, the sky darkened, quieted,
He looked at me, still smiling, raised his hand,
The fish dangled from the hook, flapping,
  I thought about life, death, and bad poetry.