I hang from a branch where the pine needles fall
My lens catches light on the high voltage wire
The fisherman stands where the darkness grows tall
His patience is measured in hours that tire
Pines stand guard by the telephone line
Fisherman waits for a bite on the twine
Salt in the air and sap on the bark
Rust eats the hook in the dying dark
Three buses passed since the dawn broke the sky
I clicked every frame as they rumbled on by
The fisherman never once looked up high
Just watched where his float met the water's black eye
Pines stand guard by the telephone line
Fisherman waits for a bite on the twine
Salt in the air and sap on the bark
Rust eats the hook in the dying dark
His rod is a spine turning orange with age
The reel screams a song that the steel used to sing
Each cast writes a line on a crumbling page
The telephone poles don't hear what they bring
I've seen fifty seasons of casting and wait
The fish never come but the fisherman stays
The rust claims the hook and the reel meets its fate
While pine sap and salt write their permanent ways
Sap drips slow on the camera's cold glass
I record the stillness the wait and the weight
The fisherman's hands are a map of the past
Each wrinkle a river each scar is a gate
Pines stand guard by the telephone line
Fisherman waits for a bite on the twine
Salt in the air and sap on the bark
Rust eats the hook in the dying dark
Night falls heavy on the pine-scented ledge
The poles hum a tune that the wires all know
The fisherman packs up his gear on the ledge
One last cast before the cold winds blow
Pines stand guard by the telephone line
Fisherman waits for a bite on the twine
Salt in the air and sap on the bark
Rust eats the hook in the dying dark
Salt and sap remain when the fisherman's gone
The camera clicks on as the night moves on
