James son of Zebedee and his brother
         John (to them he gave the name Boanerges,
         which means "sons of thunder")

                                                   —  Mark 3,17

The work is done.

Knots tied and retied and retied.
Thrown into the water empty and full.
It feels like I know them better than I know my own.
But the tired work is done.

Back is sore.
Fingers don't move they way they used to.
Still, these eyes look for those lost
To words.

I heard those same words spoken on a barren day,
Sounded like flat small waves;
And the great catch right after, merely good luck.
My word and they are here, another's word and they are gone

Without a thought or a word to me who created them.
This is a way to treat the thunder,
To leave it tangled in the nets,
Tangled in my own hands.
With only shadows of words remaining.