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It is not that I’m unaware of why
We fisherfolk spend hours
Untangling the threads of our feelings
But when the ice is on the fingers
We should not be surprised at our desire
To cast our lines without preparation.

Sometimes as the air freezes with worry
The blues creep up on you
And here the sea is wild
And there are no rivers to wash in.

Greedy for touch I crave the arms of many
But everyone I know is ill
Or in love
Or emigrating
Or they are simply an ocean away from my fingertips
And I know I could be sitting in the peaks
Without logs or red wine
With the missing butterfly inside me
And the snow two feet deep outside the door
And I know I could be waiting for the phone to ring
With more than work
But the fuel I need is for traveling
And the messages on the wire
Must pay the rent
On a house
I only wish to visit.

The fish no longer run along this shore
And tired of thieving
I look for honest work
I have had too much
Of other peoples money and emotions
Besides there is never enough of either.

Somewhere in all this
Is the memory of lovemaking on a grand scale
And maybe all we have to understand
Is winter will always do these things
But that does not stop us
From wanting spring to come early
And summer to last a life time.