Paseo Maritimo

The weathered wooden boards
snake between sharp sand 
and rocks protesting their treatment
by the cold Atlantic waves.
There´s a sea fret, 
but the Spanish words for
fog and mist and ghosts
are mumbled by the brisk walkers
along the Paseo Maritimo.
Shapes are visible - or imagined -
in the salt-damp gloom.
Armada vessels bound for defeat,
Marie Celestes, Flying Dutchmen,
or countless nameless wrecks
tracing doomed routes 
through the Galician fog.
Azure blue cracks the grey,
it´s shocking that no sound
accompanies this surprising thing
and that in twenty short minutes
the Atlantic looks 
like the Caribbean.