The harbour gates
Are closed now
The swing bridge
Left to rust
The footprints
In the concrete
Lay dormant
With the dust.
Its the quietness
That touches
Save birdsong
And the waves
The tyre tracks
Are etched
In memoriam
Like a grave.
The sky seems
Like an etching
Charcoal pencil
Of the scene
Thoughts remain
In tandem
Windswept and distant
Like a dream.