The Nordeney Dykemaster

Little inlet, my legitimate
            backwater, low tide
will about bear my front wheel’s weight but not quite
            so I make the jolly
Wattwurm jump out of its sandcast
as I visit, four miles off, friend lighthousekeeper.

Lighthousekeeper
            is manoeuvring
a giant bulb upstairs, but has a candle
burning on his kitchen table
            I keep company.
Friend candle, Herr Wineglass, lost moth,

let’s call each other du. Mud pools
disintegrate to mist, it is
            an alright night.
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