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.