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