Printed houses
on the harbour
where I stand to watch
smoke freezing
in December air
I listen to the pattern of the
day,
the bells of the cyclists,
the Stena on the way to Sweden,
not enough cars for a weekday
I take off my gloves
dip my hand
in the waves
oil on the surface, shimmering rainbow
a fish is swimming between lilac and
blue
upside down
