The Sunken Lightship

Sound Buoy
It presides Over our passing
In and out Of the Bogue Narrows.
We rise From sea gullies And watch it sway To a mindless Humping of waves. In soft seas
Its moans Are more our own. If I name it Red Nun of the Narrows, The pleasure won’t last, For it turns unruly at a whim And will outlast our coming
And going. Once, alone, In wild weather,
I felt The wallow and topple, The fit of its color In close thrashes,
My tongue Salted and stunned Into a silence That burned.
© BOA Editions, Ltd 1990