Summer Crossing

Ocean hovers behind us and slowly lowers ahead Fog horn, worn, unnoticed Murmurs on, dependable and unappreciated. Goose-grey. When suddenly the stinging squeal of a tug Pinches the soft, defenseless air And danger erupts into oil barge. Away from old fear to sculptured sandbar, marble bared. Woolly skirt of mist Sticks to dull green bayberry, Clings to dry gorse, combed marsh grass. A boy with orange hair waits for us

And pulls in summer with a boathook

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