My Chair Moves Without

The moon rides with the waves at dusk. Gleams of light, warm my eyes as ears lean towards the wind to catch what may the sounds of man. Skin bends and breaks with salt that grinds eyes so weary as waves pound the surf. Wind that whistles I cast my net but fish stay put as net and waves curl up as one. Women behind me stay silent in thought, knowing what to say but wise to not. My clothes drip towards the sea covered in rocks, trousers and thought run loose. Fantasy and air turns my blood to boil, I glance at sea and pull my net, careful to allow my golden septre to rise and fall allowing for the tide. I heave and pull laid down with burden for my net is bulging and my heart is glad, for tonight I celebrate as my women get to working.