Kerrin P. Sharpe

That Room The Window

Here is a dream of water.
It fingers the windowsill.
a man nails the tall house to a wharf.
Now it’s a light-house.

A seagull looks out.
Others look in.
Of course a small iron bed
waits at the top of the stairs.

All night the moon and beacon dance.
Fish from that coloured chart
tease the net. An aluminum dinghy
is watching itself.

At first light, the bodies
of small moths.