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.