Drunks spreading themselves along the pier.
A girl impaling a worm on a hook
with the help of swearwords.
A lad toying with a reel–
slowly raising and lowering the bail.
Charcoal aroma set over the dock.
Blue fishing lines pulsating.
It is almost night, and yet I can still see
their lures swaying in the depths.
– translated by Mark Kazmierski