Cloud has dumped on the round moon
extracting the waves’ pearly teeth
before the camera finds its tripod.
The rain is not falling any more
but the horizon refuses to abandon
darkness. I follow movement in the trees
behind me, an invisible Sugar Glider
is leaving a trail of tinkling raindrops.
I play with exposure but the sea looks
blue rather than that coal-black ink
the Chinese made from pine soot
and deer antlers for the upturned hull.