The Judge of the Ocean

The hours taken up by the salted sea
do not portend like a southern sky
when the rush is over and traffic is still
the judge of the ocean comes up
from the spring of winter fish
like a frozen despot, still and unharmonized

like a fit of our swelling, adroit timber
left its rocks to the sacred hands of the of ocean hallways
how can I tolerate the cold water
when the light is in the salt
and the weight of our collective conscience
is drowning every remembered, manifested song