******* of boat engines, gunning,
raid the silence of my perched open window.
They have their ways, fisher folk, and who am I to deny their tables food. Nets, full of brimming silver.
I guard solitude jealously, the absence of demanding voices.
Love can be found in such seeming desolation,
the prayer for friend and foe in equal measure.
I do not mind the sound of boats coming and going,
the deep blue a highway for whales and men and fish and stars.
The throats of bird and boat calling out, into the silence.