Telling Tides

Ships on anchors swinging

Round, a clockwork rusted orange

Hands telling the tides for those

attuned to the code.

Time passing all the same

The sun stretching back toward

The day of equivocation

Diamonds the afternoon water 

A solitary sail lazes the harbour

Drawing out the best of his day 

A silent launch rides the front 

of his bullet trace across time.

A single blast tells the hum

to change position, doesn’t move me 

Caught in lazy sounds riding

The updraft from downhill 

neighbours late at their chores

Early at their play.

 © Philip Knight 2018