Boat engines wake us at first light
(we still can’t believe traffic noise
would shake us from sleep
in this remote corner of the earth).
But each morning it starts beyond the eastern ridges-
just the slightest whining of an insect,
an annoyance easily ignored.
Until, with increasing volume,
it reaches the full throated wail
of an open mouthed throttle
at water levitating speeds
rounding the peninsula heading west-
the boats roar recedes with distance,
and the fishermen cast lots
to find the elusive scaled and finned trophy.

Laughing, we listen
to the deep cut wake crashing
into our quiet cove,
shaking the sleeping docks-
startling the herons
peacefully fishing from the rocky shore