Fisherman
Cold odd keys to lost cities glisten
as spikes of torment test the frigid
cold fish hands feeding ropes
into the winds biting kiss,
teeth gnashed against themselves.
Hanging on for life
Men in shirts of frozen plaid
disrobing for a touch of longing,
belonging to a certain tribe.
Whether they acknowledge it or not
they are each a star within the field.
A leaf, a blade, a patch of shade
within the black.
Each one forever fighting
to remain,
or to get back.
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