She is on their side tonight.
A flattened pearl escaping the clutches of the dark
While boats slide free, across sheen-heavy water
Scything the reflection of clouds into shards
Anxious faces peer down.
Ice-flabbed fingers delve into the depths,
grasping for the nets they hope will hold more than silted mud.
Tonight the nets hang heavy with a silvered catch,
Writhing and jumping as the air cloaks them with death.
The men’s other harvest is silence.
A few hours of calm before the echoing raucousness of dawn markets.
The sky crowds with gulls scenting fish.
The boats slip back into the banks.
She fades, a mismatched saucer against the endless cloth of dawn,
as weary as the men unloading their haul.