nightfall over Whitby

nightfall over Whitby

night strung in shining jet,
the outline of
extinguished boats
glimmering,
in the moment,
where the tide,
graceful necked
and headless,
pours out
into the more.

a dreaming harbour,
pitched and a-bob
at listless rest,
a moonless drowning
of noiseless ebony,
gurgles between the boats,
suffocating the silence,
with the softest strokes.

crowning the harbour,
cast skyward with the might
of artificial light,
the foundering of the abbey
an exercise in inky hues;
as a raven night
enfolds the crumbling stonework
in protective slumber,
until the advent of birdsong.

beyond the embrace
of the harbour,
asway at the heart of the sea,
an occasional eye
blinks a warning in blood red:
an unseen wind
swells the night sails wide,
squint-eyed fishermen at homeward steer,
eyes lashed
to the embered coals
of the headland.