Almost, at times, the sea

Sea fog rubs its back upon my window-panes,
Salt in places, hindering tide,
Push waves, push waves tranquil on a shore;
Sea birds arranged in sections of sky.

Suppose a row, a seaweed neck, no fishing
No fishing with another hook;
Jackfish, Jackfish in a yard of sea,
Twos, twos into a net; put a stove, put a stove.

If I were surely, the sea wind said, something soon
Someday; whitecaps, whitecaps what is a storm.
Wet spoil gaiters and swells and little canvas
Or ready gray lining, curls, curls.

I settle a stretch, sea at the till; sail or rustle
Mourn in a morning. A high beach and a
Perfect sight, a blow is delighted; put an anchor down.
Put something down someday in my sand.

Copyright © 09/08/2019 lance sheridan®

N7 Almost, at times, the sea