Shantih Journal 3.1 - Page 15

Overboard Diane G. martin “Here lies one whose name was writ in water.” John Keats An umber moon, a crescent at the moment, is in the ascent, though it is filling out, penumbra hiding, biding its time, vaguely eclipsed against a blackened backdrop, hovering above a choppy sea, hung over not too distant hills, it gives scant, mute illumination. The gulet doesn’t navigate by it, nor partiers at bars on shore. Oblivious, blind fishermen haul up what’s left from murky waters—hardy squid, sardines, occasional bodies lost in perilous flight. May they come ashore, or do they still need visas? Maybe institute a catch and then release scheme? Bottom feeders yet are premium, great delicacies for the swank elite. September 21, 2015 Šibenik, Croatia 15