Night Walk...

we walk past doyles
past the wafting aromas
of lobster thermidor
and garlic bead
past the dinghies
on rusty chains
past the tinkling sail boats
never failing to gasp
at the aching beauty
of the marquesite brooch
set against black velvet
in the distance
past the fishermen cottages
past the intrusive mansions
picking posies for the kitchen vase
and on to the cove
we stare at the ferries gliding by
slowly silently like fluorescent
caterpillars
we stare at the floating marker buoys
and without saying anything
we know it will break our hearts
to leave this