Writer's block

The moon bobs like a boat in a dock,
casting light on a disappearing shore. 

Fish skip across the broken water
flying from the net of darkness.
The sea isn't that big in the dark.
Night is bigger.
The unreal moon slips into
the fish flying on the backs of waves.

Corporal clouds dance on the vacant shore
slapping their bare feet on slippery rocks,
retrieving objects from the dark,
turning silent words over like shells,
spending years on one word,
a lifetime on one line.
The best ones are always hidden in the dark,
when one still hears in the language of dreams.

They hover,
waiting at the edge,
listening to an invisible boat knock an invisible dock
and leave only silvery footprints behind.