I don't know what we're fishing for.

Are we fishing for that tug that pulls you in,
that sets your blood all rushing
hot with ready anticipation...what it could be,
what could it be, could it be mine?
There is a hook, it's set, it's in, it's underneath
the water, catch unseen....
It could have been, oh! it could have been
Anything. It gets away.

You set the bait again; you put that hook
in tight, you don't want to lose
the next time that you
feel the pull, the jerk, the yank
of almost all reeled in. You set it tight.
You never know.

I don't know what we're fishing for.

I only know fear and love, fear and love.
There are sharks down there that take the
bait for smaller fry, for far less
dangerous things. But sharks, they are
a thrill as well... We cast (I cast, you cast)
Again.

In that arc of heart and line, in the aching moment of
the plain, in that split second of light and shimmer
off the spin of sun or moon, it could
almost break your heart with yearning for a landing
in an unknown chosen perfect spot. That's when

I know what we're fishing for.