Winter 2006-7

Andrew Nightingale


When you open your eyes underwater,
        details etched in pin-sharp air
melt into gentle waves.
        Motion blurs. Questions get hazy.
I've chosen these words
        to explain what happens
but you can't speak
        when you're not breathing.

I walk into the sea at Lara Bay.
        I walk up to my waist. Then
ducking under, I take stock
        of a world where I've always
kept my eyes closed. It’s September.
        Somewhere on Lara Bay
turtle eggs are hatching,
        creatures with instincts
for a blurred world.




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