|
I come back – in my mind, many times – to this place which you have never learned to love which you remember with dismay this low shore where stricken yachts come in
this place, this moment in space and time a glimpse of truths far more frightening and complex overwhelming in their simplicity
Heading south, into the endless winter a sense of affection, perhaps not quite yet love a simmering intensity stacked with the suitcases in the back
Four days out it rained like hell the whole world turned to water the horizon, the line between sea and sky where grey meets grey layered shades of monochromatic lack of colour like a low budget print run
In the distance – mountains but not here here everything is absolutely flat, like absolute zero the start of the scale from here everywhere goes up but here it only goes out and further out like ripples of flat horizontality made manifest
A malfunctioning intersection in the universe entering the event horizon of some black hole where power sources fail and light cannot escape where the gap between image and reality is too vast a chasm to bridge
Fat black parrots flap in slow motion across the oncoming road
shutdown in a flat, wet land
© Stephen Cassidy, 1999 |
|
Mallacoota Inlet |
|
poetry |
