Dawn Fishermen: Key West

Slowly, a shadow’s length this side of day, The small boats edge to sea with less of sound Than the wind takes to lift a cloud of spray. In salty blackness now the fishing ground Trembles with ebbing tides that brought with night Small topaz islands of sargasso grass; Closer to shore the sea anemones light Under the breakers as they pause and pass. Lost now at sea, or almost lost from land, The boats fan out. The fishermen’s nets go down Against the dawn wind lifting thin and higher, Then rise again and spread and sink and drown Till suddenly, as if by one great hand, They pull the sun up, setting the dark afire.