That failed fisherman dines above the dunes in bull grass
graces bees and withered limes with dilapidated presence
weaves the roots of the lonesome Dahlia around and around
like those rubber band balls the kids make and throw at the brick wall
next to the flower and fish museum by the bay
and their mothers thank them each evening before grace
for keeping the rubber bands safe and sound
which informally melds into the grace.
"For what we are about to receive, lord make us truly thankful, Amen."
"Mum, did you say Amon?
He is the frail failed fisherman who fishes for empty oyster shells around the rocks in the bay
and uses them as plates for his Dahlia root ball meal and seasons
them with half limes and the white crystallized salt water stains on his sleeves.
He keeps us all safe - he can walk on water."