The Coracle

The last light is leaving, trailing a shadow
Of what night must bring.
Now, under a dim half-moon,
That keeper of  the deviant dark
The coracle softly rolls and bobs
At the shallows, lying in wait
For one who will guide its ride
Across all the eddies and falls
Or find his way to his salty home
In the sea, not far from there at all.