I watch him cast where breakers curl
His boots sink deep in wet sand whorl
The telephone poles stand tall and straight
Humming low at quarter past eight
Pine and pole and fishing line
Salt and static intertwine
He pulls the net through silver foam
I know the rhythm of his home
Pine and pole and fishing line
His hands are cracked from rope and cold
Stories etched in lines of old
The gulls cry out above his head
He works the water pulls the thread
The lighthouse lens sits dark and still
I keep the lamp by force of will
But he don't need my beam to guide
He reads the tide he reads the sky
Pine and pole and fishing line
Salt and static intertwine
He pulls the net through silver foam
I know the rhythm of his home
Pine and pole and fishing line
Wire sings when wind blows hard
Pine groans deep in its own yard
We both stand watch on jagged ground
Different posts but same old sound
Now evening paints the water gray
He packs his catch and heads away
The poles hum on through dying light
I trim the wick for one more night
Pine and pole and fishing line
Salt and static intertwine
He pulls the net through silver foam
I know the rhythm of his home
Pine and pole and fishing line
Salt air bites the copper wire
Pine needles drink the morning fire
