Brackish Morning

1 August 2017

the compass is an untrue weapon
enveloped in blustery effect

whisper the warning one
campsite at a time on

leaving – trusting this
ambrosial decree as a tap on the

womb, the nacreous valley
with its simpatico trill

bleating rain until our
perturbed returning

the engine stays on as if
foreclosing on distraction and

a patchy frequency brings
an incident outside Urunga

competing with new growth
on the verandah’s shrub

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