The boy would sit there
heedless of the passing hours
his fingers on the dropline
feeling the current's hum
waiting for the tug that meant the bite
of summer flounder
porgy or tautog
basking in the scent of creosote
the motion of the tides that swirled around
and through the cabled pilings
strewn with barnacles
orange sponges and seaweeds of every hue
their thick black shafts seeming to undulate
while disappearing into greater depths
around them small fish schooled
and larger ones
at times rose into view

The line he held sang softly
and insistently
of hidden worlds
currents and depths of life
that otherwise eluded him
feeling himself alone
with nothing certain
his mind could hold onto
but with his hooks well baited
he would sit and think
of what great creatures might be swimming
further out
beyond the harbor in the deeper ocean
that soothed his heart
even as the humming dropline
taught his hands to listen