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The muscular tide, Gleaming with phosphorescence. Each oar a varnished shin-bone. Surgical steel Questions the gut of the night. The wet flap of fins; The slime of an eel Hauled up to gape at torchlight. My hand Fumbles with bait and fish scales. A numb wind Blows through the chasm beneath the stars. Up anchor: 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. |
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