Muffled

Muffled:

Star of the Sea, watches over fishermen in the bitter cold and snow. 

Freezing in ice-cold blackness they work out at sea on a trawler.

 

The mild waves on this calm midnight slap, fizzing on the sides of the boat.

Under the waterline is a kind of silence that I cannot get used to.

 

Underwater are sound of air-bubbles,

And the muffled clangs and bangs of the fishing boat mechanisms.

 

All around me the darkness weighs me down in the water like wet jeans.

Like heavy shoes that protected on land, treading water drag and pull in the wrong direction.

 

The moon lies on the flat of the water, like a theatrical spot,

like a serving platter of silver.

 

My face lies just below the surface, basking in moon glow,

not ready to surface just yet.


 

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