The Loon

A single loon floated above the winter 

Harbor mist. Gliding between masts of sunken,

Broken ships. Swirling circles like an eclipse

Of the moon. An entrancing stillness heard there 

In the lush lips of the famished, dark green noon.

The clear water and blue wind pulled the loon to

And fro like blood in veins across the thick skin 

Of the water. Glinting with lust and shining 

Like stones rubbed raw, the eye of the loon saw me.

Chilling flakes of air brushed my face and made their

Way to my heart. The warmth inside dulled as life

Flashed before me. The loon pulled away with head

Down and body limp, movements sunk in rhythm

To the dance of dead shrimp. The night creeped behind.


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