On The Dock
It’s winter. Thin snow,
air bright, wind sings in the rigging.
Scent of diesel
hangs in shadows, fishing boats,
like labouring hearts. Seagulls
eager for talk, they watch
fish gliding from nets, slapping
and gasping on the dock,
and shining like cold stars.
Written for dVerse Quardille #171 “gasp”. AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney @dversePoets
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