Instead, my ship ran aground in the pages of a book
Apricot clouds like ornamental fish
float across my evening panorama
My outstretched grasp flails and retracts
I have nothing to show for it
Assailed by violet winds
My sails cannot catch.
With dusk, a cumulus chorus crescendos
ever deeper centre stage
By this time, there is no more gold,
The sun evades me every time,
Leaving only periwinkle embers
And a green light at the end of the docks.