From the End of a Jetty
The formless expanse of water meets a colorless night.
My sense of smell is heightened in the low visibility.
I taste the churning, airborne brine.
I stop at the Jetty’s dark end.
The pull of the moon brings in the high tide,
along with the surf perch and sand sharks.
My hooks are baited with small crabs
gleaned from the rock I stand.
I wait, meditating on this world of borders.
Danger prowls on a Jetty after sundown.
Lovers are soaked by the salty mist.
Lobster poachers sometimes lose footing.
Forlorn fisherman have been swept out to sea.
So I’m alert to the changes around me.
But it is hard not to give in to the ocean lullaby,
surging and ebbing at my damp feet.
I lay back basking in starlight,
high from the nocturnal velvet.
Heading towards the harbor,
a flashy yacht cruises alongside my lookout.
Artificial lights illuminate the party on deck.
Champagne glasses clink and cigars slowly burn.
On this rocky platform, with my back to the city.
Of the passengers on board, I try not to pity.
The edge of the sea is all that I need.
Where my soul is recharged and joy is my feed.
I stop at the Jetty’s bright end.
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