A morning sea like fractured glass,
Silver in the first moments of a rising sun,
Lapping softly at the crusts,
Of a sandy beach,
Deserted by all, but one.
A fisherman, a weathered face,
Eyes straining to see the thin clear line,
Stretching taut across a breakerless surf,
Whistling as the soft breeze passes,
Vanishing into a world below.
Beneath the surface,
A beach less abandoned,
Teaming with silent life
Radiant with tropical color…
All, like the fisherman,
Searching for nothing more,
Than the morning’s sustenance.
A bamboo rod, tall and defiant,
Arches now to a familiar challenge,
While the tattered reel screams, and
Grudgingly releases its precious holdings to…
A creature struggling to live
But doomed to perish,
In a world
It does not know exists.