Night rises. I push my skiff from pilings into water deeper than slight swimmers like myself should go. It moves across the inlet murmurless. The water folds against itself, a stir near soundless.
Alone I row towards the channel markers, laboring to keep their shallow rules. They loom above me
catching tides that echo moving presence: You are either on your way or just departing.
What say to one who moves with me among the markers? Let us enjoy the dark together? the beam from star or shore?
The one more wondrous gift than lonely sea is sea companion sharing channel night.