Michael Fantina

TRAWLER

Craftily, I use my probe, a sounder,
Wet finger in the wind to catch the blow
Of that too subtle breeze, so that I know
How I might engage her, or confound her.
My speech will, like deep sea cables, sound her,
That I might make love's future wisdom grow.
Then, as her uncanny lover, bestow
Some wit to raise her up, or founder her.

Like some great trawler, circling to snare,
I cannot see the haul. Her eyes and hair,
And liquid voice that speaks sincerity,
Rips up and then confounds my treachery,
Binds me in cables, like some doomed ship's screw,
Leaves me to drown, along with half my crew.