Simon Peter by Lisa Debney
What else to do but fish?
To put out once again into the deep.
Attempting to relive the moment we first met
when life became abundant with potential.
Busyness is all. It takes away the ache of scenes
replayed each night in restless sleep.
We work, caught up in our own thoughts,
but sullen swell of sea still drags me down.
I cannot walk on water, fish for men;
however hard I trawl, I harvest nothing.
Morning sends uncertain light; instinctively
I wait to hear the crow of dawn announcing failure.
But this day brings the quiet rush of pebbles on the shore,
caught up in patterns more immense than they.
And suddenly it starts again,
the second chance, replayed from the beginning—
all life around me teems with possibilities once more.
The sun breaks through the mist; I hurl myself into the sea
not caring if I sink or swim—to reach you is my only aim.
You stand there, on the edge of life,
calling out against the empty fears of night;
I run to you, we sit around the flames, we eat and talk.
Three times you ask, and three time I respond;
there is new strength in each reply.
I feel you woven through my life,
know that even on strange shores you will be there.
I gather nets into my hands, they will not break.
Tomorrow I will fish again.