By Fort Howe Poem by GORDON GILHULY

and suddenly

this grey harbour becomes

hammered tin

observant condos

and port sheds smeared distorted

by the unexpected car wash

of wet-iron drops and fog

that envelop my windshield



in this ancient dark

night I am surprised by the

raw edge of beauty



the metal of bay: booms jibs

haggard freighters

plays at transmogrification

softens becomes pliable

hard angular dockside lines

now curve and feather:

the surrealism of rain on glass

newness expectation



then the complaint of tires

on the drenched highway below



I start the engine

de-fog the windows and drive:

I am almost home