It Created Quite the Stir

I found a moonfish in the sand this evening
Never encountered close to land I was leaving
The vacation rental I was cleaning
Scales all the colors of a sunrise gleaming still
Eyes flecked with gold like a glittering of souls

All the friends I've lost in every screaming squall
All the steeples crossed, every rusting hull
Is staring back at me from the graveyard of the sea

I don't go out on the water all that often
Holes grow in a harbor coat and sea legs soften
Oh, how that low sky closes like a coffin
Every season the surf feels choppier
So my heart be free of sin I will never eat fish again

All the decades lost, all the fuel burned
All the oceans crossed, every tide returned
They're calling out to me from the graveyard of the sea

Alone now on a slab under the florescent hum
At a repast in the lab of the Seaside Aquarium
As the diesel-powered storms are growing ever close
The shore of Oregon erodes and the iron waves approach
Soon all of us will be in the graveyard of the sea