Night Harbour


Dave Kavanagh.

He walks among the memories, shade of ghosts
and boats and lights and cacophonous noise.
The bang and bash of time. Mornings, bright
and the wriggle of dying life on the night harbour.

Salty lights that stung, once green dreaming eyes
and opened nose to deep new worlds of tides.
Of ocean floors and swarming schools running fast
before gill nets, the chased to life and death.

Colours and names blend and merge,
watercolour images drown in shapes of blues and reds,
blacks and greens. On spars, wide planks and draw.
And masts high, ghostly cry of the night harbour

Voices carry on the waves of wind and sound. Songs echo
from dry remembered throats. Arguing gulls fight for territory
on blood soaked bows. And perch proud on bollards wrapped
in chains and holding fifty tons and sixty feet.

The beat of life now gone, a ghost of shadow time…

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