Stroke and hook and stroke and hook, the rhythm of water moving from one man. Pounding his heart and mind and arms concern themselves with but the movement of the canoe, the furrow in the water that tore his heart with every beat.
you can see the fishes if you know where to look.
the lover says to his beloved. The heart breaker looks to him for warmth
A lover loves best when he can love what he's loved first, and his first love was water, he saw the water when he was two, holding a rough hand with a callous on a palm. Another man was the who's greatest gift was Time, and time was spelled F-I-S-H, and F-I-S-H spelled love even now is the rain and heart and soul of the lover.
Can the beloved accept the love he would give her. he begins to love her.
The fish are easy to see in the spring
he's calm, love makes you calm. Love makes you bright and sharp, as a knife he tells her
The fish here are in the knees of the cypress stumps.
Ahead of them rise the Trees.
they are gone, now they spread fragrant bush branches where once a cypress giant towers and glowers over a water wasteland of mud fish and mosquitoes buzzing their drum as if to say melt into the waters and feed us.
The beloved peers into the water black as night, but then, there's an orange spot, the closer to the trees.
The bottom is sandy here.
The lover tells her
The fishes make their nests in the sand, and the sand hides eggs.
love makes you calm when you've loved long enough.
He love the water first, and for a long time. He loves her now, almost long enough to be calm, but now his love is a pit of hard gravel on knees without a bicycle.
Soon his love will make him calm.