Thoughts From A Foggy Nanaimo Harbour Night
Fog horns moan
by Charlie Galan
Amid the boats bobbing in Departure Bay,
Sounding, beckoning, warning,
Those listening to the inner harbour air.
Wave past me in the still mist.
Wandering as abandoned children,
Or broken lovers who’ve lost their way,
The pier’s logged precipice
Into the salty forbidding white bubbling foam,
Exploring, seeking, foraging
For meaning in this quay.
Rise from the dank damp black darkness.
I roll up my collar
Stabbing my shoulder
Into the breaking light
Of another misty mid Island dawn.