Poetry

Harbour, Harbour

I left our classroom early to find
A spot on the breakwater quiet and still.
Upon the cold, desiccated granite sit I
And empty my pockets; some bait, a dollar bill,
And an old pocketknife used to carve in your name,
But like the ocean unknown - your lure just the same.

I watch weathered schooners with muscle and drive
Cut through waves beyond the sandbank.
Bright-coloured buoys draw jejune spirits,
I walk to the mooring and launch my skiff blank.
Cries of seagulls shake barnacles inside,
While in the sun, I into sleep slide.

A fisherman’s son and dawdler of docks,
The one who you chose to love long ago.
How could you change a restless breeze?
That blows from the north and salty kiss knows.
On the sea’s breast awoke I and found
My harbour, my harbour,
now homeward bound.

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