Westerly / Lawrence Upton & Richard Kessling
The dog waits, and we sway on the creek-bank
watching ripples writhe aweigh upstream.
Below them, blues of incoming tide
bend in the silty stream; pushed back.
Near, parked car full of four occupants;
engine running, lights on. Passing,
one sees a passenger man mobile-phoning
stone-faced; elder female
sits at the wheel, staring ahead;
two others in back. None moving.
Prevailing winds may help one make up a mind, which way to go.
Uniquely sustained westerlies. Gales,
gusting to seventy, that kept gusting.
That was dawn, with the dog cowering.
I was fearful behind thin glass
in a west- and north-facing room
trees not letting slip flung branches.
Night now. Cloud free sky unblotted by lights.
Glitteringly studded sky overwhelming.