Reaching for the sky.

 On the verge of the skies where the west ends,
The sun is setting as a fish of gold.
A ship is swaying in the green waves
It is sailing to the end of time. 

  

The young fisherman took off in his ship,
White is his sail and white is the net.
The young fisherman is out and about
To fish the sun, the fish of gold.

 Lea Goldberg (my free translation)