Paul Willason Poet Free verse

Out On the Jetty

There was that boundary
breached by a thin line,
a transparent nerve
linking two worlds.
My fingers could feel
the constant chatter
conveyed along
that tightened length,
the winds annoyance
and below, the play
of water telegraphed upwards
in a quivering morse.

I sensed 
the sweep of currents,
the movement of weed
and the passing drift
of waste shorebound
from the gulf.
Yet something more
had gathered
to find voice there,
something not fitted
to any form
I could catch
and give a name.

A deep resonance 
had taken the line
and crossed 
that tactile bridge
and into mind.
I was no more
than its clumsy glove
wired to whatever
will it had and chose
to reveal.

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Jeff Kyser September 7, 2022 at 3:04 PM I enjoyed this, Paul. As a boy, I fished with my father, and we often went deep sea fishing, dropping a line with multiple hooks to a depth of 200 ft or more. It was tricky to learn when you had something, the response at that depth was so slow, and there was always the anticipation, reeling it in, wondering, and peering into the dark deep to see what the sea would bring forth. Paul Willason September 7, 2022 at 3:15 PM Thanyou for your comments. I am pleased that the poem has triggered a few, hopefully, happy memories about times spent with your father and fishing. Being in the moment and listening to water speak is one of the joys. Regards