Alone, on this pier.
Five AM. In search
of sunshine and all that I see,
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.