Cape Ann Dreamlight

I dream a sea awash in ships:

Irish leather-skins,

Wooden dories,

Yankee whalers.

A transatlantic coffin ship,

Irish leather skins

Packed in human humidity

And rats

Within.

Bright white and blue

Gloucester trawler’s huffing funnel,

Smiling crew,

Hanging metal nets

Shine, anticipating.

Leather skins stand at the rail,

Set in sepia tone,

Eternally waving goodbye.

Ghost-driven, rust-eaten,

Trawler risen from the deep,

Her crew, no longer smiling, sleep

A deep, amniotic sleep

Unknown to air-dwellers.

I dream a sea awash in ships

Crossing, passing, intersecting,

Leaving foamy traces in their wakes.

I am sand and sea-foam.

I once clung to pilings

In stinking Queenstown harbor.

A passing wave caught me

And carried me to America,

Depositing me on the shore,

A seed asleep in the sand.

It is said that nothing will grow in sand

But I did.

And though it is said that we are dust

And to dust we shall return,

I am sand and sea-foam.

I will return to the sand.

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With thanks to Lime for her encouragement.

Cricket