Leaning over

On a packed ferry, last Sunday night, 

with a slight chill eased by the

warming homeward cadence 

of tired croons and tittering chatter,

I watched the bobbing city lights

clustering the shore like regimented stars -

if only they did twinkle,

all the prettier they would be.

And as the glimmering stretch of sea

passed underneath I leaned in to see it close 

and feel the spluttering breeze.

Yet to the rhythmic swash of waves, 

before me as though scaleless eyes,

I knew I saw a mirror roil -

those flittering glints

of glaring lights 

from a harbourside swollen

with pretty houses and big-firm towers,

and those restaurants - the ones 

with towels draped over forearms.