homing shearwaters—the evening sky grows darkwith wings
labyrinth . . .finding the centrewithin myself
drumming rain . . .the copper kettlebegins to sing Lyn Reeves
a fresh flutterof sundrops and finches old birdbath Jan Dobb
crescent beach—children sculpt islandson the tideline
bobbing heads to Cold Chisel doves on our roof
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