the horizon, a shrimp boat-
the bow appearing, then reappearing,
it's distant, tall mast crosses the salt marsh.
stiff with brine, shape the wind,
while in the wide wake, a flock of gulls
so white above the shimmering leakage.
cooling breeze, her steady approach
is unmarked by bent backs and such
though the sounds of soft voices comes down the sea.
still the cargo hole brims with catch,
As the sunset slips down through the
And the full moon rises to surf the dark waves.