Simple Mathematics
A storm is whistling in:
the bottoms of scudding clouds
obscured by the lighter gray
of diagonal rain.
If this geometry were at the coast
or on more protracted water,
the wind would gauge whitecaps
and reckon waves of substance
on a heaving waterscape,
but in these protected inlets
and coves, only small ripples
bisect the surface with the gusts –
no waves to speak of at all.
A black tug pushing a mouth
of white froth has left port,
the wind at its stern.
A patch of light spreads across
the darker, wind-troubled bay
as it moves away: calm water extends
in a widening triangle
that marks the channel –
a compass between the buoys.
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