Looking South
On a morning
wings launch
into a clifftops
uplift of air
and glide effortlessly
above a distant coast.
Tall waves break
into foaming sweeps
up beaches bare
of footprints – a shadow
cuts like a scythe
across ancient sand.
Enormous swells
heave upwards where once
clippers sailed
southern ocean gales.
A continent’s vast wound
weeps into the sea.
High above, the contrail
of a passing jet
crawls silently across
a cloudless sky.
An emptiness soon
wipes it all away.
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