1277
1.vii.23
4.183
little harbour poem with see-through rabbit moon
slight on a low swell
hills of bush rise
and like a tombside
stripped here there
long built
a sandstone tideline all
the world round
bark craft, midden
ghost
sun to see
diesel chug
not choppy
green gold of another
ferry
the breezes still in
the tops
everything just as it
is
nothing reflecting
today
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