Each morning brought new nuances
undressing the day before's garb.
An ever-changing channel through
the stories yet to be told.
'She' had bravery in mind for those with least resolve
and death for both the timely and surprised.
Her sculptures in the sand presenting
Disguising, shifting, sinking
Here were they, in waiting
Heroes courting epic fates
Survival? Insufficient, scant reward.
This bay that swallowed tractors, trailers.
Ponies gone astray.
Deceptively, the beauty came each day.
From storm clouds bent like shower curtains
circling round the headland's nose
to iridescent fantail rays
escorting Neptune's next retreat.
so much more than there was
than was there, there.
Two windows, twice a day to take
the tide's relentless roaring dare.
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Comments about this poem (Fisherman's Point by Dan Reynolds )
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