Three Black Swans perform a fly-by over snowy ground,
the rocks white-washed, expressionless, pasted with spume
like whipped cream, the Pied Oystercatchers keep going.
I get caught out by a wave slowed to a thickshake consistency,
blocks float back down like icebergs, this should give us a clue
Cicadas start to sing when the sun fills their branches.
An Eastern Curlew is walking the rampart of sand
between river and lagoon, triggering endorphins,
but the endangered bird is looking around, not probing,
not eating. Today is a day of repentance for our sins:
global warming, and crimes against any other.
The ‘one-in-a-thousand-year’ floods to the north will
be coming again soon and missiles are raining down on cities.