Poised on the deck, line in hand, she
casts her bread upon the waters
and waits. Under the bridge,
birds echo and argue. The river
runs fast, but time has slowed
down, still water running deep.
I match my morning prayer
to hers, drawing out the psalms,
eking out the slow invitation;
waiting for a tug on the line,
some sign of life
on the other end.