Salmon Bay

Mined sunshine

drying rust on

sunday light industry.

Cold aluminum and 

violent tangles of chrome

await the men 

covered in diesel

and rage.

They will knock it up

build it down 

and slowly

die.

A seagull 

begins to come apart

in the oily vomit stain

of an alcoholic fishing boat.

A fossil is born

while the crew sit

in the bar

drinking cans of warming beer.

They get further and further

from the ocean

and closer and closer

to their last day.

When the wind decides 

to change direction

the sweet and sage smell

of a rosemary plant

is like a kiss 

that startles a heart 

shuts off time

and promises everything.