empty boats bump with echoic waves, and then are silent
like dragon spine, a rocky shoal lies offshore, by night, a figment
boats in still water,
subdued prows reflect
a world below
For fog has settled on the bay
and ship shapes fade to gray.
They count themselves infinite ships
while bounded by that bay.
The sea deceives, that much is true;
the rest we’ve yet to know.
Some will swear that trawlers sit there
that were lost long ago.