One moored his boat to the shore. Another unmoored, sailed to kindle lights. The saddest one moored himself to a cable. Cold lights lit up over the surface. Fish floated into the nets.
Ships rest far to horizon.
Eyes puffed with sleep, he reads in a book. The town-hall clock struck and halted. The mist lifted, fish floated out of the nets. Quietly I float after them. A dog is running to the woods.