The moon’s light opens the sea,
brings limestone and sea urchins out of the dark,
lets me see more than I would in the day,
when the light is hard, reflects off water,
white houses, the rocky hills.
It is hard to see fish in the sun,
except when they come to the surface
to nibble bread, or when they are dead;
thrown back to the water, untangled
from a net, floating.
I prefer night, the white moon,
phosphorescence in the dark sea,
like a turn in a dream, the quiet
silver of fish, the mystery