INTO THE MISTS OF TIME ©

Through the haze he could still see them,
ghostly shadows flickering
like candles in the wind.
He heard their trapped voices
in the vortex of his mind..

Five decades lost in the mist,
lost to a world of black gold.
Their leaking landfills
of festering pustules
severed his umbilical,
his lifeline from this sea that he loved.

Hands weeping a dermatitis,
he dragged nets, half-rotten
into the evening haar.
The salmon fisher turned,
smiled sadly through his beard,
and walked away from the mists of time.

He was the last of his kind.