Sea Music

In a foreign language
Waves speak loudly.

The painted eye of a ship
Opens, and stares

Far beyond me at the desolate sea,
Searching for island life.

But there is a hood of cloud
Over the bay today

And the salted bones of lost sailors
Stir in the swell's throat.

No ship would venture
Into these roads,

For the sea intones
In the old tongues

Of drowning, and death.

Robert James Berry

If you've any comments on this poem, Robert James Berry would be pleased to hear from you.