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, ...