Just before the hour where the
exhaling sky deepens into darkness
it pauses to match the harbor’s hue,
match but not mirror. No,
the stilled waters have the power to
stretch and pull
lights of waterside taverns
reds yellows and whites
to elongate masts that have slipped
in for the night.
We slip from rented rooms to hear
words we cannot speak raise toasts
to those we’ve just met.
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