Fins slicing through waters slick
at dusk in echoing caves.
The indigo moon hanging alone,
reflections on the dipping waves.

Lazy waters lifting light,
eyes glinting at constellations
in a night that rolls, too quick, to dawn
with a foggy lack of concentration.

Alone and warm in an early morning.
Melancholy rose at sight
of this empty boat, left alone and moored
and gone, the last lick of light.