(30 August 1953 - / Clark / Australia)

Sleeping On The Brine

Midnight pilots the mind to miracles
or mirages. Thought lies anchored
with its crew at rest and no lookout
to warn of the interloper boarding
from the longboat: madness needs
no moonlight, stealths its way to
the wheelhouse, grapples every degree
of wind, every tackle of tide, sounds
every watch with leaden tongue,
marks every depth beyond despair,
resounds its victory in every quarter,
giving none.

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