Fishing the Dawn
Day again breaks
grey, briny
mist rising from the wild sea.
Into the froth
a quartet wades,
clad only in
thin briefs, muscles
thick, firm, flexing
beneath sun-browned
skin.
Leaping over
wave heaving wave
fractured by their
thunder, these men
toss hand-lines, pull
out silvery
fish.
The young son of one
guards shorts, shirts
spread upon a
grassy slope.
Among palm fronds
birdsong begins
to punctuate
this drying morn
& the sun is
seeping through thinned
clouds.
Nighttide, Santa Marta Bay
The moon waxes
behind fractured clouds
A breeze blows
from snowy mountains
In the clear waters
people bob
with each flow
Each ebb of this sea
shushes against the
beige-grey sand
The shouts of children
slice the night
Rhythm of drums
float upon this noche
On a rock island
at the mouth
of this bay
A faro flashes
& further out are
the lights of boats
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