Rachael Mead, Poet.

THE SOUND OF THE ANTHROPOCENEBlack Point, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia

I’ve driven from a place of edges 

and endings to this cold winter shore 

where the line slicing water from sky

is nothing but softness. A bird blacks 

a hole in the grey and the sea is so still 

only gull legs and wing flap ripple the glass. 

I leave footprints in the sand, mistakes the sea

will erase with no uncertainty, reminding me, 

at last and again, ...