once wrote

about

a counterpane

of fish

living

fish–

a dream

breathed into life by a

quilter

and a Man

who says

I will make you

fishers

of men

all these years later

I walk all the edges

of another woman’s storm

the signal tracks

from the

coast of Texas

all the way to the Pacific

crossing fast

too fast

toward winter…

Australia?

can you be there?

already?

that is what I would think if I were your mother

I would search the shore,

each map

the satellite

dropped pins

and the faces of

friends and strangers

for signs of my missing

son.