Small children snorkel at Mitchie’s jetty

by the sandy grin of beach

squeal in the silver-skinned lake,

as stingrays glide and twist, morphing

from flesh fan to slow, finned projectile.
Embracing this inter-tidal world, I float,

as mangroves coil around us,

roots birth sea-litters and form air straws

like uttering tongues. Buds sprout into leafy

salt-pumps; seeds fall, float, germinate, take root.
My muscles spasm.  I’m done.

Crushed by exhaustion I crawl to the shore

gravity                 on         my            shoul-      ders

              like         a               granite                       bird

     this                      shape                 shifting                 illness …