Thin veil of mist,
windless dawn,
from the shore’s edge before me
a fright of terns
un-spools as one shadow
into the paling darkness.
I walk along the wet
estuarine sand,
that crescents this coastal village,
its wash of dulling streetlights
seeping down to the water.
My eyes adjust
to the vaporous light,
I see all around me
soldier crabs etching
their secret script,
the rippling surface of water
where tiny mouths of minnows
lip the mirrored sky,
and a white-faced heron
lifting from the shallows
and flying off
into a yellowing gap
in the ragged tea-trees,
its rush and lift
of flapping wings
trailing silver and pearl
over the water.
Already morning
beneath the netted haze
is full with change
and the mix of things.

© Mark Miller

Peter Macrow,
Tasmanian Times Poetry Editor.
Tasmanian poets or those with a Tasmanian link are invited to send up to 5 poems which have not appeared previously in print or electronic media to:
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For the complete collection, click here: Poetry, Peter Macrow

Mark Miller