“Secret tests,” was your whisper
of the submarine halved in the harbour.
Unable to contribute anything further, beyond
eyebrow and frown and ear, I encouraged
lightly-rolled papers and palm-flattened papers
of star maps and numbers to appear. Sailors,
once one fathom under, hum, one octave over
an ancient incantation, through the iron and water:
Summoned; rise up and disappear.
(photo: nick reeves – south shields pier)