Coracle

He drifted up the spine

of the Pennines.

Peaks jutted from the water,

vertebrae of a long-dead whale

breaching the surface

to suck salty air

through a phantom blow hole.

 

The vessel spun,

reluctant against

the waves which stirred

and broke

over the skeletons of old oaks

littering the sea floor.

 

Above, seagulls

swooped and cried

in tongues learnt

from vultures, waiting

for an updraft

to send the tiny boat

skittering upturned

into the ceaseless ocean,

leaving a morsel

to fill their caged sides.