Book of Dust: Ripple

Morose wave lapping at my feet, I
listen: a low groaning stretched over
the water:

you enter the harbor, a great ship,
majestically soot-covered,
limping as a hull limps.

Like a spy, you know all the channels.
At the shore, silent now, quickly now,
the bastard skeletons dive:

I feel the ripples,
toes in the water.

You are
nearby.