Salty wind pushes at the falling tide.
Blue serenity veils the town as a 
melancholy buzz flows through the idle docks.

A boat pushes through the harbor:
It drifts along, 
lazily down.

The sun naps behind thick blankets of wool,
but begins to rouse.
Peeking out of its weft to 
cast soft rays of light onto the cobblestone streets.

And as the fresnel lens sinks on the coast
to become a buoy in the skyline,
the town traps a yawn behind its teeth
as the edge of the earth dampens the day.

The hushed waves brush their fingers, lightly
against the stone village.
Tapping and lapping away at the sand floor.

The fish, under the film of the lulling water
nest on cool rock,
And snuggle into gentle wedges,
hiding from the retreating hooks
as their dreams begin to float to the surface.