Ships fastened to water,
A long line of ships this hot
Afternoon, stand like homes
Abandoned for the day.
There are things not in the picture:
The tower with its roof askew,
A drowned garland.
The ships came with the view.

A mill rots, a freighter pulls
Away. Hills rise
Straight out of Africa; a mandolin sounds.
Palms along the coast become
A line of leaves above a door,
Withered long past welcome.
The sea a massive bolt, shot across.