a fisher of storms

at the prow
he stands
waiting
above the water’s
swirl and turmoil

the movement
is a maelstrom
the whirlpool
a shoal

down
in the teeming
he sees one

it is the one he wants
to know

and he dives
casts his heart in
before him
held sharp and pointed
like the spear
of his intention

deep
down his descent

and far
far away below

eye on the prize

one
the only one
in that chaotic entirety

a thrust
sharp
of his spear point

what has he caught
he cannot know

until he rises
he can look then
at his prize

back on-board
and sailing
again
across smooth oceans

ever on
ever on
to distant storms


© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #14: storm free

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2 thoughts on “a fisher of storms

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