Sunday Scribblings prompt: Competition

MARY SPEAKS

my sister Martha do you never
lie in the cold still dark and hear
the fallen words that swirl like stars
or sardines swarming
turning
darting
flashing silver?

no
much too sensible for that
you net them
layer them with salt
fish
salt
fish
salt
accessible
mundane
and oh so provident
in briny reeking tubs

I hear the muscular swish and turning
star-tossed glitter of silver fish-words
weaving a shimmer of strands to net me
here in wakefulness
their fretting slivers splinter sharp

night-tossed sharded starved for meaning
I fish in His eyes
for silver words to
fill
fullfil me

from the oven you pull forth
crisp brown loaves
sweet smelling
daylit
bring savoury fish stew
to feed His hunger.