At the mention of “Andrew”, the phrase “fishers of men” popped into my head and dragged the rest of the poem into an interpretation where the first catch is the self.
The beauty of Titian’s Peter—you’d swear
those painted arms were flesh.
He’s fishing with Andrew, the two of them arguing,
hauling their heavy nets into the boat.
They bend to the lake’s mirror: among reflected reeds,
a heron’s image turning its liquid head to hunt.
And the floating shapes of men—necks, lips, bellies—
their bodies’ second life on the surface of water.
“Beauty as an Evolutionary Strategy”
And so for day 2062