The Shipyard

The night harbours
blinks with electricity
to nerve

the port head
and lighthouse eye
every bone is a ship
the skeleton fleet
mooring to journey
of body
in the coming morning

the night harbours
ghostreadings
that steal away to dancehalls
sailor to shorewalker to dancehall dancer
treading boards on the pier
the sun hesitates to rise
thankfully
and the salt hull
shares to sails brimming
masts of loring while anchors think

the ghostlife blink
in spinning with salt to sail
a gull hears the word gull
nerve sporing to seaskin of salt

the depth is dark-green with similarity
for certain sailors dance with air
every minute of their lives.