On the beach, just before sunrise,
one solitary fisherman clad
in vulcanized rubber waders
stands silently, almost reverently,
with reel and rod at the ready,
feeling the rhythm of the waves
as they thunder deep in his chest
and hiss out their sparkling dance.
Then, with a grinning primal intensity,
he rushes the retreating foam
and launches his hope, his rage,
into the waxing waves and dawn.
He backs slowly to the dry sand
and waits on the softness of morning.
Amid the rolling, among the frothing,
gulls clamoring out raucous warnings,
the lulling song lifts and falls
down and into his waiting heart
His line bounces upon the water,
surface undulations, mimicking life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.