The sea moves, tirelessly
While across the bay
Where I sit
The air is still

A strange choir
Crickets and waves
Insects against street light
A tapestry, of quiet

The moon, touches the mosque
From above
Both white
In their distance

Small stones, like beads for thought
Are thrown against the sand
Make craters
In the sand

My mind moves, while the sea
Across the bay
Hasnít changed
Itís still the same.

Written circa 1980 © Martin Dunbar