31 December 2024

By Philip Kuepper

(for Michael Bell Meyer)

I.

Cod. The Cape.
White-fleshed, white
as a cloud. To catch
a fish is to catch
a cloud, reflected,
in the never still
sky of ocean.

II.

Carp. It carps
at the hook,
until caught.
It is silenced by the hook.
Lies still, lies quiet
the cloudless ocean.

III.

Salmon. Sacred.
Coral-fleshed, the coral
of a sunset. Eat
the succulent
meat of a sunset.

IV.

Trout. A rainbow,
its curve evading
the curve of the hook.
Hook and rainbow dance
the geometry dance amidst
the curves of the waves.

V.

Blues school
in a cove,
fleeing a predator.
They have turned the ocean
into a summer sky.
I cast this line of words
into the sky’s depths.

VI.

Bass. Silver,
the color of the light-
stunned ocean. It swims,
disappearing, before my eyes.
Blinded by the brilliance,
I have caught a spirit.

VII.

Sunfish fleck
gold the ocean,
rising, descending, rising
with the cross
currents. They crowd
the net with gold.
The boat’s hold is gold-filled.
The boats motors, weighted low,
toward shore,
wrapped in the cape of splendor.

(6 December 2024)