I see them sitting off the edge of the pier
their legs dangle towards the meter plummet
into the drop-stricken water.
Silhouettes of mountains can be made out
in the mist layered backdrop
as they take in the
fresh water smell
of both sea and rain
The gate, to the pier is shut
how did you get in?
An opening can be found
between some trees just off the bushpath
surrounded by wood, a bench onlooks
Lilypad, taking hasteless breathes of the day
seeming to heed no notice of rain or wind
She bathes her flowers in the shaded heaven-sky
pelting rain affects her not
as she proceeds
her idle trek
downstream
In the bright abyss
of nothing but sea and sky
two gods, of a soon-to-be lost culture
One pulls to receive
the warm water of the pacific
steaming high, forming tall
moving across, toward mainland
The drums
pound against
itself as
they loom closer
warning of rainfall worse than the
drop-stricken windowpanes
worse than the
tree-strangling winds
The light show shall begin soon
Graffitiing the harsh deepening blacks
into blinding white
as if cracks into heaven
as if