My fisherman – by Scott-Patrick Mitchell

ISLAND | ONLINE ONLY

I know you in the brine-infused sea
an open wound that carries you away
into aquamarine photographs bouncing
between satellites before beamed
to my bed, a wreck where your touch
a ghost waiting to come hitch Anchorage

I know you in the praxis of tying nets,
unravelling spells to summon the wet
oward a place you can haul, muscles
flexed to catch noon sun bronzing
the medallion of your skin, singing

I know you in the paring knife that splits
the shell, sweet meat, I am your pearl
ready to be rolled on the tongue, your love
a wave that rolls into my reef, wind-stung

I know you in the thirty five steps to the end
of the pier, your arms a tsunami, your sweat
a spray I lick clean, this bed          thrashing 

I know you in the weight of your depth,
the crush, drowned by your immensity

I know you by the wreath I leave on the shore

             Hydrangea,                             black grass,

                        lavender,

                                                beach morning,

                                  coral’s breath,

                                                    spume scent,

                                          scattered        with ash

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Image: Michael Held - Unsplash

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