Bundeena
The southern beaches are quiet
Their shores unruffled
The sea breeze is thick with the muffled sound
Of the scattered rippling of waves
And the chirping of birds
Of random unfamiliar muted chatters in Mandarin and French
And the solid staccatic barking of the moneyed's white boat engines --
I did a little bushwalking, too
Passing thru 2000 year-old aboriginal arts engraved in stones
Finally stopping by Jibbon Beach
Laid down my handwoven mat
Pressed my left ear to the ground
As I slowly walked my fingers to the sand
Holding a pinch and forming circles
Until the crystals fall off
Shifting my head to the sky
Squinting my left eye
Followed by the closing of the right
The vastness of the curved blue sky
Consumed by the pitch blackness
Of a quiet sleep
By the beach.
Their shores unruffled
The sea breeze is thick with the muffled sound
Of the scattered rippling of waves
And the chirping of birds
Of random unfamiliar muted chatters in Mandarin and French
And the solid staccatic barking of the moneyed's white boat engines --
I did a little bushwalking, too
Passing thru 2000 year-old aboriginal arts engraved in stones
Finally stopping by Jibbon Beach
Laid down my handwoven mat
Pressed my left ear to the ground
As I slowly walked my fingers to the sand
Holding a pinch and forming circles
Until the crystals fall off
Shifting my head to the sky
Squinting my left eye
Followed by the closing of the right
The vastness of the curved blue sky
Consumed by the pitch blackness
Of a quiet sleep
By the beach.
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