At the end of the lane
where fish are tallied
as the sun is setting,
divided size and kind,
numbered scale and fin,
the final work is done.
Blades flash bright,
fishermen come
to slice gleaming fish.
Twilight walkers
stop and stare
at the luminescence.
Knives like lightning
dive into silver fish
within a rose-gold sky,
and radiance unearthly
lights the work of life
at the dying of a day.
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