The Fisher of Men
At the heart of that which love is truly is
Persistence as steady as the stillness
Into which the stars were breathed and have their being.
It is the thin, taut line quivering
With the terror of my having been caught
By the very thing for which I hunger most.
Cast from beyond time into perfect time
Touching lightly the smooth skin of the momentary eddy
In the loud and rushing waters in which I live,
My heart saw and leaped to seize and run
Only to find I had been seized
My inmost being barbed and bleeding
Lashing my life down current
For all I was worth,
Straining against some unseen Master
Holding the other end.
Here pulling me back
And here letting the line run
With my running;
Steady, steady the strong thin line never truly slackens.
The rapid years slide over me
Until I grow blessedly weary
And am gently drawn to land,
Unhooked from the steady line
To be held in steady hands.
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