Anchored, the ship strains, turns slowly.
Light-worms shimmy, writing
a message only fish can read.
On the fantail I watch as
dock lights focus to pinpoints,
harbor finally smooth.
Parachute flare behind Monkey Mountain
burns white, winks out. Another rises,
blooms, begins its fall.
Jagged rocks at harbor mouth
ghostly in starlight. I’d sail through them
on a raft if it were headed home.