By Sunk Island

We cut the engine

and drop anchor by Sunk Island.

We lie across the centre thwart

to inspect our bowl of sky.

A shoal of Perch

gently bumps our boat.

Above us, starlight is occluded

by a single shifting cloud.

I attempt to read ellipses,

but they’re of unequal length,

and in a code I cannot decipher.

You tell me the cosmos is not silent,

and I ask you what it’s saying?

Only coffin ships will reach us.

Grim, I say, gazing into the night’s gulf.

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