Night Fishing

Here I sit in my little wooden boat,
The sky above me dark, except for the moon
And the stars.
My line remains slack--
The fish aren't biting.
All that stirs are the frogs
Whose croaking can be heard
From across the pond,
And the reeds, lined by moonlight
As they sway in the spectral breeze.
It doesn't matter if I catch a fish or not.
Soon, the dawn will throw its net over the sky
And I will be caught
With wonder, and true reverence.