The engine’s pulsing hums through the water,
an underlying drone for staccato
seagull shrieks, insufficient to shatter
this place’s intrinsic tranquility.
Ignorant of our rude proximity
the seal dreams on her grey watery bed
lying on her back, flippers spread apart
a priestess inviting us to worship.
We are in touching distance and still she
slumbers, an elderly, rotund baby,
expertly riding the wash from the boat
until an overloud prompt from stage left
lifts her from sleep, she surveys her domain,
and with a comic actor’s double take
she flips over, is gone and leaves only
our loss and the grey wake of her absence.