On Nungwi Beach - 7/8/03

Who are you, fisherman, lonely fisherman,
who stares out to sea as if bringing her to heel
in the crumbling East African sun?

She's no hammock for your fishing boats, no veil
that you might haul away, cut into pieces, sell
The sea is a silver chain, heavier at dusk,
restless as your hands, many-partnered as money

And the birds who are stitches in the sky's turning wheel
know this as well as you.
The sand is straight as a razorblade
and all you'll catch is the sun