Looking
aimlessly, I see everything
until
my blood clears and I see ducks
as
themselves. I retire to the hut
to
catch my breath. Chill night seeps in
the
open window but I am loath to
shut
it out: the world should be more with us.
As
it is, the self-satisfied moon is fat and flamboyant.
I
spy Li Bai down by the Murray River, drinking a slab
of
VB and writing on his iPad. Silver clouds
back
the mirrored pool as ducks surf
wind
swept driftwood toward the shore,
beside
boat ramp and jetty as they navigate
their
wintry waddling waterwise ways.
- Andrew Burke
