I have no care for the space in my nets or how they empty feel.
How sparse my lines and barren traps, how loose the winding reel.
My father fills much larger voids like oceans lakes and streams
He populates the morning waves and floods my life with dreams.
Of shores on glassy distant seas, covered with his brood.
Of every tribe and name and tongue, of every skin and blood.
My nets will fill on his good time. My notches cut in due.
I find my joy in what you bring, my fill is found in you.