Journal » Trout 11 » From Where I Stand [Diana Bridge]
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From where I stand

Diana Bridge

A shag parts the rock
and becomes its skewed finial.

There is the clutter of driftwood all over
the shore. A few bulky women

prodding in pools for kina,
their crumpled hair trailing the wind.

A truck sprays the scene with ochre dust
but before I have rounded

the point, one of the endless points,
the sea returns it.

Picking up paua shells,
skimming stones, the skin on my palms

toughens. The waves float the line
of an upturned roof

onto the rocks; trading in pattern
detached from its past

for this circle of sand, heaped
driftwood, a backing

of scored hills,
the blue plate of the sea


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