3AM

We hear the first lonely calls in the dark,

although the sea that tramples

the shell-and-seaweed littered shore

seems as distant as a dream

 

Lying in bed with you, drifting,

I see the wave-tossed buoy and clanging bell

See a fat scarred bull, neck twisted back

barking at the iridescent spatter of stars,

before diving into the black waves

 

His mate nuzzles a velvet-sheened pup

and waits out the cold hours,

the slow creeping hand that fades

angry indigo to indifferent blue

 

Outside the window, the sky lightens

shade by shade, the silhouette of

pine branches barely visible

 

Morning taps the window blinds,

creeps into the room and over us,

like a sheet pulled over our heads