All day the sky had been an empty promise then, crossing the park, the rain came like a visitation, the wind rousing the Norfolks into a frenzy of flagellation. Then it was gone, leaving Freo freshwashed and bathed in a quality of light usually reserved for heaven. Under the rail bridge the river uncoiled through the freezeframed harbour like an oiled anaconda and the train skated over the scales of this reptilian mystery. Out from Leighton, yachts and oil tankers rode the dolphinslick sea. A pale yelloworange band cleaved the sea and sky as the bluegrey roof of cloud slowly collapsed under the weight of darkness. Rottnest was a five o’clock shadow on the horizon. Surfers bobbed like seals, rising to ****** the last wave of polished jade from the encroaching night.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. The poet wishes to acknowledge The Press (Christchurch) in whose pages this poem was published.