Sunday Morning

Two herons fly north tonight, over a moonlit high tide. Gemini in a western sky guides celestially the first plane in to the airport to land. Wavelets lap and swoosh as seaweeds are drift up. Oberon takes me out for this, for a rainbow around the moon, thin cloud, dewy cars and damp grass. So to sit on the harbour slip, crocs idle in dry sand, tempts me to make the first footprints on land, on a Sunday morning, wet after the turned tide.

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