11.53pm, Crackneck Point, Bateau Bay
tankers queuing                 up and down the coastline

sparkling in their sleep they are

compulsory distances                  apart
the scene, what we have decided           is sorrow as bruising clouds

            hover offshore                                           compelled by

stage directions:                       sound of seagulls

                              and waves
impetuous winds mark the ritual

                             in coarse March air             forming

puffy blisters                  decoratively        against the stars
the hush before psalms
                 silence as a virtuosic act of history

                                            written in memory of the sea
a whip of intimacy                must be how the animals

feel

when they come

                           to our back door

                                                      to die