Cast off from Glasson rock;
the suck and swell below the arc of a teardrop
lead weight.

Delicately feather the surface,
probe the meniscus
and hoist up horse mackerel gasping for air.


They run with the tides
so mark the pier wall from the hill.
Add an hour each day for the high tide till at midnight
you break the moonlight runway
into the talkative chatter of the phosphorous,
submerged and drawn by the current
till seal heads break the surface.


Cycle west
and catch a glimpse of the dew
glistening at sunrise.

Drop a line of silver foil
and haul up rock pollock
or catch a mackerel with a mackerel skin
its silver blue over the black silica.

You tear the serrated knife though needle bones
And feel life shudder.