I am the iron in the bay
Watching the gold turn into gray
I feel the salt upon my skin
Where the cold winter tides begin
He brings his soil in heavy bags
Old canvas shirts and faded rags
He sets his bench beside my rail
While distant ships begin to sail
Hold the line until the morning glow
Watch the heavy river current flow
Greenhouse glass and rusted iron beams
Waking up from all those quiet schemes
The ferry boat is gone from sight
Left in the wash of fading light
He plants a seed in plastic pots
Tying the garden in tight knots
Hold the line until the morning glow
Watch the heavy river current flow
Greenhouse glass and rusted iron beams
Waking up from all those quiet schemes
The harbor bell rings once or twice
The morning air is sharp as ice
He closes eyes to find some peace
Until the heavy tensions cease
I hold his weight upon my chest
The gardener takes a moment's rest
He smells of peat and potting loam
Far from the place he once called home
The city lights are blinking far
Under the glow of one last star
The water laps against my side
Waiting for the turning of the tide
Hold the line until the morning glow
Watch the heavy river current flow
Greenhouse glass and rusted iron beams
Waking up from all those quiet schemes
Iron and salt.
Iron and light.
Wait for the tide.
