Gutting sheds glow golden, tunnels piercing dark
A Mothers hands to gouge and tear.
Kerbstones glinting silver scales.
A Schoolboys’ shoes, fish-blood stained.
The men a-bed still sailing free.
Their Land-legs buckled, twisted up.
Dreaming fathoms under Seas
So drowned they are by their own cup.
And years from then I am here now,
Becalmed inside these memories.
The streets are clean, unchanged somehow
by all that hangs upon the breeze.