Untitled on 6/17

I will make you fishers of men - JC

I rest and uncork
a bottle of white wine
in the shade in the sawgrass
by the blackberries below the aspen
and willows I am a fishermen
fishing as bombs fall 
on Iran and forgotten places like water falls
on the paws of orphaned
bear cubs who fish also
I don't even fish
with a split cane rod
or braided horsehair 
or collect feathers from old nests 
like wilderness fishermen who are better
at navigating ruins than I am
but I still find so much purity
in a four-weight fly rod
laying beside a trout stream
letting spiders crawl over my arms
that now I think about perfection
and realize the entire world is perfect
for a moment 
I manage perfection