A seiche over flat water
sky harsh and on the horizon
the cones and shoulders of the far islands
fixed like souvenir glass on your mantle.
The tide’s slack and the squid fishers
are idling with the collie who’s
there at every cast and shadow.
Their lines go down in the cold bright
to seagrass and old stones.
Now starlings up from the wires,
the sedges and the saltbush
beat the full urgency of the wind —
as if we’re dumb or asleep or
holding our breath, ready to walk home
home through long drowned meadows.
And for those with itchy feet (or unresolved issues with the piano accordion) here’s the wonderful Pauline Oliveros with The Wanderer