Skip to main content

Sea Here

The sea slurps

beneath the wooden slats,

near the bobbing boats,

little masts and care-worn flags.

Crates of fish come up –

hefted on swollen muscle;

grey and white flesh

slick with the sea, mouths

open too late;

jagged on lines.

The gulls have come –

red sea legs and tiny eyes

watching – always

for a slip, a morsel.

The sea behind the bay

rattles the stones,

flips the tiny shells,

they wink at a watery sun

7 thoughts to “Sea Here”

Leave a Reply

Yes No