Song for Mornings

lacustrine voyages invite
mean fleeting memories
objects distilled know more grasp,
than riding currents

stallage weights cry for morning light
under staithe no meadows
but palstav marks the currency

where fiddles sing hymns for morning
few were nimble or fair
stone cabers gave to passing tides
more leverage than sighing

a photomosaic bent new
sign language for new light
where meadows seldom stark are free