I the nets of my senses cast
to catch the beauty of this world.
I found you stirring, naked, sleek as a shark.
The nets of my senses you tore apart
along with this, my ageing heart.
Like sunset’s blood upon the tide
my thoughts stain these days with sorrow.
But, despite the pain, still I wait to cast
my mended nets upon the morrow’s flood.
* * *
(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011