To see with our eyes
we must materialize
whilst embracing
we whisper secrets
blending breath
with tenderness
We view the port
with its docks
at ebb tide
crabs in the mud
trawler resting
on its side
scent of creosote
where gulls
abide
The hull rights
as water returns
and the skipper
invites us aboard
From the bridge
a ladder descends
to the hold where
cod are kept on ice
Stench of bilge fills
the cramped space,
and then the pump
resumes its labour
Should my heart stop
watch these eyes dim
as clouds clear above
If the skies be rent
and god appears
I’ll hold you near
and if missiles fly
I shall lie down,
dear, with you
Raised, the anchor
clangs on the prow
Through the hatch
we see lufting sails
No longer can we step
from deck to wharf