• Vol. 09
  • Chapter 11
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Surfing a different storm

Oceans of plastic flood my course,
at a switch careless devastation races in,
fires rage, glaciers melt, crops fail.
TV images keel-haul me – those children,
the wailing women, that odour of suffering.
Always the suck of tangling undertow.

Rough-beached I long to plunge headlong.
Icarus-dreaming, I feel fortune tremble.
As sun melts hopes, quiet futures unravel.
I grasp for the grit of raptors, for harsh talons
and pinions to gyre. Sinews stretched
I yearn to soar, desensitized, sated.