Marvellous Harbours.(Poem)

 
MARVELLOUS HARBOURS 
 
   Picture this: a fishing boat, days out 
   on the ocean, makes an entrance, small 
   and flee of sway, amid a suddenness of settlement. 
   What the harbour absorbs, routinely, 
   happens without fanfare. The sea 
   nuzzles a fleet, like animals asleep. 
   There is expectation and, always, a rapid passage 
   into marvellous harbours 
   as well as a vantage to photograph 
   the panorama, a diversion, under a clear sky, 
   from the good anchorage. In a mist, history 
   will report defences, batteries, forts 
   for the sake of prized interior water. 
   When the boats are captive, now 
   and foreseeably, the wind's storm-force. 
   Then the harbour discreetly 
   suffers its crazy creases, while the ocean, 
   madder, is tearing its clothes to pieces. 
   The harbour, you name it, each one 
   concentrated: Valletta (top of the list 
   for conflict), St John's, Halifax, Hobart ... 
   There it's always the limit, in high ...