wattyle byrd

whirring bugs
suck the air dry

a sentient sound
heaving unpleasantly

hot wattles dangle and hang
on limp-winged animals

paused on kite strings
above sandy black deeps

rowing the flesh boat
up an estuarine lagoon

we come here
to unfold a picnic

a lunch you prepared
quince jellies and soft cheese

on a chequered canvas
avoiding sand insects

a squirt of ephedrine
to balm the tide

the waters' movement
loaded by decaying detritus

mirror in your glasses
floats a thin briny smile

with silence
dividing the silence

a séance
disturbing the living