I see many a slippery black head popping Up from the depths, the fish are violently Disappearing and the green ripples going As far as the eye can see. The salt slowly Gets between my fingertips as I dip them, There is an icy tinge to the day, there is a Green, polluted hue to the sea today, some Seagulls swoop to the stern of the ship. A Flock of cormorants swarms on a deserted Inlet to the right, the craggy edges soak Up white foam, a spray comes to a head And the view of the mountains rolls, cloaks Almost, the sea shore. The boat lunges, Chugs to its goal, the depth ever plunges.
About the Author
Ronan Quinn is an editor, writer, poet and literary translator based in…