Sundown sails twirl,
at ballerina’s bow
the day dance ends.
Wake nudge turn home,
evening shadow calls.
Twilight shroud, sun
slides mouse quiet,
into dusk’s dim bowl.
A little death…it slows.
Under manta’s shadow,
thoughts leave the isles
and cold water corals.
Even solitude must end.
And coarse hands yearn
for warm water, soap
and a fish supper.
Sailor songs by the fire.
© Dai Fry 21st March 2020.