After Luke 5:1-11
He came to my boat, dusty,
asking to push off, from shore,
from the press of the crowds
clamoring for a piece of him.
My boat, now a platform
for the crowds to hear, multitudes
desperate to touch him, touch
the words spilling softly
from his lips and falling upon
our ears, alternately washing
and burning. With everyone else,
I listened and watched: rapt faces,
enraptured hearts. Then he pointed
and tells me to fish, fish where
there were no fish, his words
stripping my pretenses, crushing
my knowledge, searing their way
inward. We caught fish where
there were no fish, and then
we abandoned all, to follow.
Painting by Jacopo Bassano (1545).