Lobsterman

The thrum of a lobster boat says it’s 4 a.m.
Its diesel throat is audible for miles before,
then miles after it passes.

Hauling traps must be hard work,
but not a grudging labor.
It’s good to be out on the ocean alone
while everyone else sleeps:
a meditation of hoisting life
from the darkness below his sturdy hull.

Listen to the long sigh of the passing boat…

When the sky lightens
I become a daylight person,
dreamless and purposeful,
unknown to the man at sea.