Hey, you. Would you throw me a line?
I've been growing old down in this swimming hole ever since I saw my first tadpole. I keep getting fatter and what matters begins to change. I think I want to fully see those funny fractions that gleam in tiny ripples glimpsed while I wait under one dark rock first, then another. I know all the moss under these rocks and the toss of skipped pebbles. I know the sight of something to eat as a treat, but now I'm beat. I'd rather be someone else's feast.
Anybody up there? Throw me a line, would you?
A line I'll take by the hook without even much of a sinker. Just let me have one look. I hear your word-distortions laughed above me, about the oldest one never caught right here. I know you mean me. If you'd only throw the line now, it'll save me from so many years spent entirely wet. If you could, would you please give me time in full light for even a scant moment of a new life not met yet?