The Salmon of Doubt

The ranting winds that bucket us
With stinging salt lashes on skin
And screaming frozen harpy-ridden fury
Will soon be kitten-soft and sighing.

Jaw-clenched sails will furl and dry;
Coaxed out colours in the sun
Painted slapdash on the canvas
Herald the warmth of a chlorophyll sky.

The wood, though now it warps and groans
Will wring itself out in uniform rows
Shake off the silt from heavy blue ropes
And slice on eastwards through the sea.

A ship laid bare; unchastened, undeterred
Besieged by long tempestuous nights
A crumpled pulp of paper in one small breath
A golden-strong garden by the next.

So fish out your salmon of doubt
From silk-lined bootleg bottle pockets
And swallow fast the briny deep
To rise, and roar, and fall, and sleep.