A single loon floated above the winter
Harbor mist. Gliding between masts of sunken,
Broken ships. Swirling circles like an eclipse
Of the moon. An entrancing stillness heard there
In the lush lips of the famished, dark green noon.
The clear water and blue wind pulled the loon to
And fro like blood in veins across the thick skin
Of the water. Glinting with lust and shining
Like stones rubbed raw, the eye of the loon saw me.
Chilling flakes of air brushed my face and made their
Way to my heart. The warmth inside dulled as life
Flashed before me. The loon pulled away with head
Down and body limp, movements sunk in rhythm
To the dance of dead shrimp. The night creeped behind.