In the march winds one year
when the granite sea stood etched
against the sky, wild dogs
roamed the shores, teeth bared
ears pinned back

The Captain
watched then run, stop, stare, pant
and in their eyes he saw
the same lust, same hunger, that fuelled
the frantic fish, the shrieking gulls
the shelled fury of the sea

From the rocks he picked
a piece of glass, sea-rubbed
as smooth as suede, held it close
and in his own eye’s core discovered
he too was driven by the same desire

Nothing then to do but cast
the glass into the sea and run
run with the wind, dogs, waves and dive
deep into that lust and chaos

For who knew whether
even the dumb lofty stars
did not also long
to roar beyond their silence?

In the march winds one year
wild dogs roamed the shores