Night Time

by Mike Hemming

A rust-rimmed bullnose aimed at a rising red moon

Parts an inky black sea

Turning it to white foam hissing along tanktops

To slide aft past and to be joined by jets of cooling water.

Together they disappear into a far distant wake

Returning to the darkness from where they came.

The rumble of engines is the only other sound.

Unsynchronized it rises and falls in a pattern

So sweet to the ear in our silent sea

She glides along under a starry sky.

Clouds now and then hide the moon

The air stirred by her passing is dungaree shirt warm

Ruffling the hair of the watching men.

They watch for others that don’t sail in their sight.

Alone they sail to another watery spot

To submerge at dawns first light And cover her slick blackness with a protecting sea.

When their time is done and she is no more

The men will remember this silent sail to nowhere

As a privilege and the best there ever was.