There is a caw as we circle the umbilical boats,
pride flapping as we turn.
The rocks stand witness to great events
that have reached into this harbour
and left their marks.
The temple on stilts winks in the dawn
atop its isosceles perch.
The tenders chop the calm and swaying waters.
I smell fat on the galley stove.
No need for comfort of lifeboats
as we slowly weave through the
short and long ones.
Rubbish stacked high on every beach.
We leave the designated crowd behind,
look forward to direction-less grey
and seas with only distant shadow
of features, opposed to the
surrounding circle of old judges.
15/2/2011
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