Landscape fills with light then spills it out again
over water. Seagulls overhead. Salt marshes and mangroves.
The shore-birds sort and gather each sound,
filing it away in a scrubby banksia forest on the other side
of the change sheds, in movement that is silvery and distant.

On the path that leads over the dunes, my feet
on the rocky path disappear. How does bright sea-light
make the eyes go dark? Sight completely lost,
waves breaking into foam, a columella or a shard of bone?
I regain my shadow, there is the unpatrolled ocean
there the rock-pool, its own complete and restless world.