The End of Night

Alone, on this pier.

Five AM. In search

of sunshine and all that I see,

is fluorescence

from above me and behind

This wind, is all that I hear.

High tide. Higher than I ever see

Steady waves, punching old pine posts

–swaying, like old trees in heavy storms

Fishing lines–beneath my soles–dancing

above this black tea sea, from this dime moon,

–beneath these hollow boards, snagged,

collared and leashed, held on by splinters

–they look like silk spiderwebs.

Pelicans, and sea cranes,

stalking the edges,

perched and waiting

the same as me

and yet they flee

to the bruising sky

as I approach, too close,

one hour to the sunshine.

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