Wind whips a loud rush past ears
dulled by roar and dump of waves.
Foam hisses and swishes out
rumpled bolts of dirty lace.
Against children's seagull voices
cicadas bounce their endless
scraping of faulty machines
off shimmering cliffs lurking
at the edges of mirage.
Sun spreads a burden of light
a weight of heat on shoulders.
The dazzle squeezes pupils
into suspicious pinpoints
and leaves no room for thinking
no chance to parcel the day
into sequence or story.
Events are their own, random
as wavelets lapping ankles
or the shift and squeak of sand.
Wind is, and weight of sunlight.
Martin Dolan
Narrawallee 9 January 2008
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