The sea lifts and heaves against itself
then works a humble aggression at the edges
of awareness,
the wind scours our indifference
I begin losing shape…

Like sand
from slowly relaxing hands
I loosen to spread across this reef
and calm pool surfaces
their unstirring lull
to the sea

and poised
at the end.. The sun
a cascading golden street flecked
with white crests, and fingertips
of light so softly sparkling…

I am cold and afraid
and begin to wish I had not come.
But casting busily
manned with bucket, boots and rod,
casting and waiting

I grapple with fish,
a cocky felt hat
smugly on a head that’s plainly warm
while seas leap before and behind me.
Later I lug the fish ashore
to suffocate on the beach

 

(published in Quarry; A Selection of Western Australian Poetry. Ed. Fay Zwicky. F.A.C.P)

 

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