Edgy constellations dart
before our masks,
spatterstrokes Pollocked through the blue.
Swaying willows
of tinsel leaves curving in
the currents we make
require a sidelong squint, the way
we locate stars.
Pulse:
a hail of slippery spears
arcs across the reef.
They crowd the shallows later,
lightning in the weedbeds,
squall-streaks above the pale sand.
The pelicans dip
and dive, not like stones dropped plumb
but on the bias,
eyes flat as fish-scales, cutting
low in angled swoops
into the sea, unblinking,
again and again
under unflappable suns
until in the end
each will start to miss minnows,
overshoot shadows,
crash hard into the sudden
disorienting
eclipse of the world, and then
starve, lenses eaten
by years of salt, blinded by
a gullet-bound view,
ordinary use and dead-
on pursuit, by curt
unswerving intent
and a strict and bloodless stare.
