OFF THE ISLAND

Arms wave over reefs
facing the western winds
your calloused wet hands
draw full knots and nets
from greying estuaries
sunshine harbors us
with whistles in the clear
as ropes are being folded
for the morning catch
when the sky grows
larger and bluer
satiny gulls and morning doves
rise above your leafy gaze
along the marked shore
by ancient vessels
of shards, coins and pottery
the black water surges
toward the expected springs
where a poet plays guitar
in the tiny green narrow glade.