did he stop
did he pause
at least for breath
arms radiating outwards

before the opened mountain
fish on an ocean’s canvas
moving in every direction
become sacred islands

the top of my home
was the fisherman
the bottom half
the fish

hauled up from the depths
to bear witness
to volcanic fires forging
the land that made me

and the fisherman
he casts fresh lines
through salt-heavy seas
calling me home

[2013]