For a Fisherman

It’s not easy talking son to father, men tangled in time
not easy to untie a bird’s nest in the reel of memory
find love without our common and particular pain
blocking the way, a word, a breath between us.
Days rise and go
gravity tugs bone and blood,
some men are made fools thinking they know
who will to the grave go first, and not clearing the stone in a word
letting go the trap of time snares some, crying out while silent they stay.
why we fail to speak love is strange when speaking ends the pain,
father, from the darkness of my simple heart I love you
more than trout love the sound of rain
more than lilacs the April air
or the elk its antler.

You taught me well not in business or in war
is the measure of the soul, but in the love we come to know.





copyrightRayn Roberts 2017