FLOTSAM
Lightships do not bleed,
says the old man in the
wooden boat.
As the water-crabs claw sunsets
back into their throats,
the sea reaches for a blade
to slit their unsuspecting skins.
Serene hyacinth, monk
of the monsoon waves,
drums a dirge
on the rainbow-crowned backwater drops.
Six feet into the bay,
the dolphins dream
of a lost quay.
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