A still, warm, and breathless tropical night,
Before the birds awake and fishes stir.
There is no breeze or whisper from the palms,
Only a gunmetal gloom and swish of waves
Gently shifting seaweed on the sand.
I lie on a hammock counting intervals
Between the flashing lights of marker buoys,
And watching the passage of a distant ship,
Lights blurred and blinking in the sea-fog.
As I sit there the dark morphs into misty grey,
And, herald of the day, a lonely fish
Skitters the water beneath the wooden jetty.
Robert Hanrott, February 2006