Sometimes I slip away on an October day,
Get in my car, and all that I haven't done—
Letters, poems, praises—fall away and I
Drive north, passing abandoned cabins,
And admiring the shadows thrown by bare trees
In small towns where cold waves lap the sand.

The renegade minister—the one they all gossip
About—would see those waves too, after throwing
His Sunday hat out the window. He'll be
All right. Death hugs the underside of oak leaves.
In each cove you pass you will see
What you had to say no to once.

Go ahead, pull off at some empty resort;
Walk among abandoned cabins on the shore.
You'll see the little holes that raindrops leave in fine sand,
And those old fishing lines driven up on the rocks.

Robert Bly:  In his numerous roles as groundbreaking poet, editor, translator, storyteller, and father of what he has called "the expressive men's movement," Bly remains one of the most hotly debated American artists of the past half century. What is it about Bly and his ideas that inspires such impassioned responses from readers and associates? The psychologist Robert Moore believes that "When the cultural and intellectual history of our time is written, Robert Bly will be recognized as the catalyst for a sweeping cultural revolution." And literary critic Charles Molesworth suggests that some of Bly's importance and complication lies in the fact that he "writes religious meditations for a public that is no longer ostensibly religious."

"Broken Fishing Lines" was published at The Writer's Almanac 9-29-03.   It's a poem that we wanted to re-publish at ForPoetry.com with permission of the poet.

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