My Christmas Call

How loose it has become
over these tiring years of
family-stutterings [a cord

cut by word & deed] – As
we grow auld our pasts’ll
wind & knot cast-off lines

weighted by lead – each a
half-cut imperfect sphere
bitten on [& I’ll add more

to meet my estimation of
that fed-at depth] – Whip
of rod puts it in a pool of

stillness across from me –
that shaded part of flows
[there maggot-eaters lie]

& there eyes are fixed on
a hopeful float – bob of a
bite – a call from a family

member to tug me from
this lonely place – I wind
& loose & wind & we talk