Lines of inquiry

The last correct turn cracks open the safe
yarns rolling out lines of stories.

You love to practice casting your lines
a fly posing questions to the fish,
the fish posing questions to you.

A straight line and a crooked
one, going north or south
tumbling together into a ball.

A wild pig wanders inside a riddle
a forest of slender bamboo trees
going deeper into the question
lines of inquiry on how to escape.

They begin,bougainvillea
and ivies,climbing together,
the line divides into a Y at the balcony,
the view reaching farther in the horizon.

A face lines with emotions
like a bucket of past and future.
Who will haul it from the deep well?

Lines of inquiry
some are hollow, others filled with straw
truthful lines falling in or falling out
yours can be the next line.

After harvest comes fermentation
a line of succession
taste and blend barrels of vintages
your palate a place of many rooms.

If I cry, says Rilke,
who will listen in the hierarchy of angels?
You will cast a fly
that hooks a thousand bites.

Patience and feel, solitude and chaos,
silent and trembling river,
walking over splintered glass or over burning coals
your way to Mt. Everest.

no images, no poetry

Reading a fly fishing magazine I came across an statement that stirs my heart strings:
 
“Their supposition is that [fly-fishing] is an admixture of aesthetics, philosophy, and science, and that by standing in cold water for a couple of hours you can communicate with your God (obviously not a bait fisherman). Certainly all these elements are present in the recreation, but they are important elements of all the better parts of life, not just fly-fishing.”-Herman Henkin, quoted in California Fly Fisher, August 2013.
 
I like to emphasize the they are important elements of all the better parts of life.”
Life is a synthesis of many aspects of living.
 
When there no new images or poetry. Or new books.