Dawnmares (and Benvolio, learned fisherman)

dawnmares
so often they start like starlight:
an open night
and a cheerful invite from
a new pal who seems all right,
and might know tricks to besparkle our night;
but 2 or 3 slips from 4 to 5,
voices get jolly but the wind isn't right
So soon the mood tosses...
wants, oh!, to fly like a kite.
???!!!???

then often somebody wants to fight:
perhaps the lie is given
some idealistic flame ignited,
and the night rocks and blurs,
bright, SWEET stars take flight
and next creeping sunrise, I'm raw with shame,
I realize (my pockets lighter) that this time
may be my REAL! last chance to learn.

meanwhile, sailing on a near or distant sea
there's a fisherman once something like me
(his eyes are brown, or grey, or green
or even purple and triple)
his wise hand holds a sandwich
he chews a pickle thoughtfully
glances methodically round at his rods
then at the basket of silver beings
he clubbed hard and quickly
so as not to prolong misery.
he drinks some water mixed with grapefruit juice

this evening he'll drink tea,
read something sweet,
then tend his garden;
his saplings are growing with gentle robustness.

Some day he may teach me,
Happy day that realizes that "may!"