Signal

Photo: Diego Fernandes 2009

There is that alien light again,
Drifting around the port periphery
Floating in the offshore fog.

Waves crawl the quay wall
Channel markers are flashing
Harbor Master consent has gone.

A surfer is chasing down his stoke
A camera gathers scattered light
A heart is pumping blood.

I keep thinkin’ they wants to land
To browse this ‘ere exotic port o’ call
To muck about with rum and riot.

But they are still waiting out there
Now lightless and without signal
Silent as rags on the Dutchman.

A mooring awaits and pinnace
The telegraph marks a welcome
A maiden longs for converse.

Heading to a pineal pier
Or outbound for celestial psyche
The captain seems uncertain.

The tide is high and channel clear
Either way, naught thwarts or bars
But a call of beat to quarters.