A different fisherman

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).