Weathered hands
And leather skin,
More hide than flesh.
Smell and taste the salt
And hear the oyster catchers
Feel the wind dance
And snake
Its dainty way
Through the loose strands
Of your hair,
Leaving invisible icy trails behind.
The boats are beached in the harbour,
Slowly rusting,
But that doesn't matter.
It's not like we're going anywhere
Anytime soon.