A room, two scruffy caravans, verandah with a view,
the sea roiling or calm, tidal-tug and foam-flick,
she-oaks and tea-tree hunchbacked in wind,
the great arc of our beach walk to the rocks
and cloud-shadowed mountains. Always the mountains.
We take care with water; wallabies eat our plants.
On this broad bluff the stars seem closer at night.
Where we have made landfall rises and dips away to two towns.
Gulls street-strut; islanders weave windswept lives,
their daily outlook also the grandeur of mountains.
Into our corner come yacht crews asking questions,
clouds sailing the roaring sky around this curvature
with scant settlements in their airy global path,
and the spirit of a gallant seaman, Matthew Flinders.
Debra is here, constant as Bass Strait; me, reading.
Ian C Smith’s work has appeared in , Australian Poetry Journal, New Contrast, Poetry Salzburg Review, Rabbit Journal, The Stony Thursday Book, Two-Thirds North, & Westerly. His seventh book is wonder sadness madness joy, Ginninderra (Port Adelaide). He lives in the Gippsland Lakes area of Victoria, Australia.