MIRAGE - Poem by Eva Cox
A pool of earth billows and steams in the summer sun.
Tombstones, flat slow barges, sail past me,
the cross a crooked mast.
There's no wind, it is the sandy ground itself
that inches its way forward.
Where is the journey headed for, I want to ask.
There's no answer.
Sitting on the quay wall on this strange Sunday afternoon
I see them disappear one by one.
They tilt over the edge of my vision
into the vortex of an hour-glass perhaps.
Who shall say.
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