From the bar at the pier’s end
they saw the moon’s pale hands
splay across the sea as if it were a piano,
phrasing waves into a nocturne.
He held his beer glass
steady on the high counter,
as a breeze blew, and her shawl tassels
fluttered against her mouth.
She’d got a raise, she told him.
He was glad, he said.
She watched the night fisherman
step into the shallows, cast his line.
City lights caught
the crescent of the bay,
completing the regretful curve
of ships leaving harbour.
Along the beach
small ordinary fires
warmed the dark.
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