Fish Market, Orange Valley

Changing from one moment to the next
-the skins of red fish had too many colours to choose.
Early morning, arrived, they’d be
thrashing in pod nests, their eyes
fixed marbles where the sea once rode.

The men, in net vests and shorts,
stroked the fish with cool practiced passion.
And before each gleaming body,
they’d be on their knees claiming
their riches from the seas.

In wanting-light, small boats moored,
fish, men and sea would retreat
into the arms of women.