The Harbour In Early June (grey morning after a rainstorm)
Behind the breakwater,
white boats sedate in the marina.
From across the harbour’s grey chop
comes the sound of hammers, building.
Maybe two heads bent over blueprints,
hearing the wind long into winter nights?
All that can be seen from here are green trees,
green fields, the shoreline’s red slouch.
The path today is lonely, strewn with the wet petals
and red hearts of chestnut blossoms.
The spring wind must have rattled
at all your windows last night. But you slept.