Robert Verdon, #160, As we Sank

a mild lunette

of thought lit

the crotal bells

of our plywood canoe

in the shade of South

Coast mangroves where

anodised cloud

and bronzed elbows

of lightning revealed

snow gums soldered

to the ridge

above; a wimple

of mist held

gold inkblots on the

basilisk

slope, sunyellow

Pittosporum fruits that

peaked through it like

cat’s eyes

on the road to

the chill south.