flashes in the dark.
matches scratch,
little fires arise.
bread browns,
fish sizzle,
the scent of coffee boiled in cans.

a clatter of knives,
tobacco clouds,
a lapping on the rocks.

before,
that vastness of sea.
behind,
the frozen wastes;
that barren of broken dreams.

they are so very far from home.

one stands,
watches,
points an arm toward the glow
of crimson afar.

they cross themselves,
ready the tackle
and stand,
knowing they may not return

but hunger is unkind,
and death makes no exceptions
for sailors.