a hot northern wind

off Bluff Beach

batters the coast
in the CR-V, i curl up

beside a skateboard

camping gear, a mess
of clothes, listen

to old doors creak

in the stubborn joints 
of banksias 
* 
through the window

first light, a Berlin grey

dragging me up
to the headland

where soft pinks

give line to horizon
waves wash around

the gumboots

of a fisherman 
and in the distance

water exhales

                           a 
                               tail 
      slapping
*
sun bites the ridges

of breakers as i jog

along the beach
yesterday’s tide curving

with the fingernails

of a thousand tiny shells
*
sitting on the back

of the CR-V, i brew

an instant coffee
smell those winter mornings

before school, when mum

would walk out
onto the back veranda

drink a Nespresso

smoke a Longbeach 
while my sister and i

would eat Fruit Loops

by the heater
huddling so close

we’d singe the hairs

on our legs
*
what if poems

only came to you

of a morning 
as if each day

required a small act

of worship 
before it could get going