They told me not to live in a stilt house
above water, but I like emptiness
beneath me, between me and the sea;
I like feeling suspended, how the tide
comes in twice a day like a kiss.
They told me not to weight my line
with a thick lead sinker, that it took
the hook too deep to where the bottom
feeders breed, where they lay in rot
and muck. So I tied the thick lead sinker
to my line, dropped it in, and held it
tightly in my hand; I needed to see
for myself, to know what lay below.
Don Hogle’s poetry has appeared recently or is forthcoming in Apalachee Review, Carolina Quarterly, Chautauqua, Hartskill Review, Penumbra, Stone Canoe, South Florida Poetry Journal, Third Wednesday and A3 Review and Shooter in the UK. Among other awards, he won First Prize in the 2016 Hayden’s Ferry Review poetry contest, as selected by Alberto Rios. He lives in Manhattan. www.donhoglepoet.com