I see many a slippery black head poppingUp from the depths, the fish are violentlyDisappearing and the green ripples goingAs far as the eye can see. The salt slowlyGets between my fingertips as I dip them,There is an icy tinge to the day, there is aGreen, polluted hue to the sea today, someSeagulls swoop to the stern of the ship. AFlock of cormorants swarms on a desertedInlet to the right, the craggy edges soakUp white foam, a spray comes to a headAnd the view of the mountains rolls, cloaksAlmost, the sea shore. The boat lunges,Chugs to its goal, the depth ever plunges.
Bio
Ronan is an editor, writer, poet and literary translator who has been based in Dublin. He studied for an undergraduate degree in Russian and European History in…