Monday, February 21, 2011
lacing the edge of petticoat harbour.
Gently they ripple,
as fat lady moon
lowers herself tentatively into salt sea bath.
One sentinel seagull stands on water's edge
and one small child's shoe on wind beaten sand,
left behind from sunny times.
Early morning is quiet here.
Distant ships punctuate black velvet
drape of dark horizon
and steel sings softly in salty wind.
Early morning is lonely here.
Mother day-break makes a poignant entrance to the South coast,
her blushing nectarine cheeks behind the airport's scarlet windsock.
Headlights and footsteps make haste for the bustling city.
For tall buildings and artificially lit offices
to live nine to five lives
of details and deadlines.
But what of that one child's shoe?
What does it see as it stays,
as skies turn to blue
on Lyall Bay morning.
Posted by Laurel at 11:22 AM