My father took my fishing rod
while I slept on rain
and he lost it to a bass.

I’m no robin’s egg,
I made him regret it.

In a dream
the Star of David
eloped with the big dipper,

a constellation no bigger
than my fist.

Now I wonder
about the moth
and the butterfly.

Beautiful is my man
who can’t tell the difference.

Grandfather’s muskie
mounted on the wall, my glory
bubbles in the water’s basement.

A thorn begging forgiveness
hooked my rib, cracked me in the end.

In spite of it all,
I can unclench.
In spite of it all,
lonely is fresh
and I miss him like new.