Sky Fishing

In windproof Mac standing
over proposal of line and net
laid before the office of wind,
with a flick of conductor’s arms,
he casts up his emblem
to compete in the market of logos.

When clouds spread
he can eclipse the sun,
stand in its umbra,
become a mystic.

When the clouds gather we see
the great outdoors is a great indoors,
where the walls never touch the ceiling.
One room where we waste the fits of our lives
reaching never high enough
with a gossamer thread waving on the floor.

A wasted life is a crime
punished by death and boredom.
Crashing clouds begin to weep and
he stands braced, welded to the reigns.
Watch with admiration
the insouciant sky fisherman
who hangs up on life,
and flies a kite in a storm.