Ode to Silverback 4
Sand-flapping and gill-gasped,
Body like a serving: a slice of bread,
Wet on the beach.
Life and death at odds with the summer sun beating.
And Silverback, stanced and ready there
for the verdict, unsure of where to focus:
On the fish themselves, or on the now-empty net
I push her out to sea on a synthetic shade of blue.
A foam mat, cresting the depth,
something like seven feet of fish water.
Tethered to the dock, she is my seaward landrover.
Where she floats is where my home is,
I'll fall asleep every night pulling sand and seaweed loose from her coat.