the cold iron rails,
the grey, concrete ground,
the black-mirrored ripples,
the wind’s lonely sound,
the hum of the ferry,
the wake’s frothing line,
the shore’s curving profile,
the water’s lithe spine,
the shrill conversations,
the feel of the spray,
the gulls’ constant chatter,
the call of the bay,
the thrust of the current,
the dance to and fro,
the long tidal rhythms.
the stillness below,
the buoys and the tyres
the waves push along
the music and words
of the proud river’s song.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s