The trawl of unquiet mind drops
Great lucid streamers bar the sky ahead(bifurcated banners at a tourney)light alchemizes the brass on the bridgeinto sallow gold now the short northernautumn day closes quickly the thin coast(of grey Norway is it, or of Russia?)distinguished only as a formal changein the pattern of clouds on our port sideon the deck the strung lights illuminate nomovement but the sullen swill of waterin the washer, but the unnatural waydead starfish and disregarded dabs swimin the strict seas surging through the bilgesand out.
A fishgut hangs like a hank ofhair from the iron grill in a pound boardbrighter now that the sun, the fishfinder'sgreen bleep catches the skipper's intentnessand the trawl is down, is out, is catching!
