The muscular tide,
Gleaming with phosphorescence.
Each oar a varnished shin-bone.
Questions the gut of the night.
The wet flap of fins;
The slime of an eel
Hauled up to gape at torchlight.
Fumbles with bait and fish scales.
A numb wind
Blows through the chasm beneath the stars.
Link upon link, the chain
Folds on the floor,
Shattering the stars in the bilge water.
My father rows,
The granite moon
Rumbles from thunder clouds,
And the electric light
Beads on the aluminium.