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