Fishing Off the End of the World by Liz Fisher

The sky reaches down

with foggy fingers

to touch the water,

brandishing gentle intention.

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Your line flies, sings,

disappears over the edge.

You seem unworried—

I lean over,

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gaze into the emptiness

where shapes swim

in my vision, beyond

my metaphorical reach.

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I wonder how

you’ll even manage

to catch one of these

silver darts,

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just how you’ll go

about this liminal life

at the proverbial end

of the world.

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But, as if we have

a telepathic link,

you mumble something

about bait and hooks,

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patience and knowledge.

What exactly do you expect

me to do here?

Jump?

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