On Golden Bay

I listen. To the sound coming into my ear.
A laugh, song, voice or word, a rustle of wind,
leaves in the eaves. Footstep tread on the stair,
a scrape of a shoe on the dance floor above.
Gaiety. An oven door and smells escaping
wafting downstairs, inviting, mouth-watering.
Meat, pink, on the bone, charred brown,
onions caramelled, lettuce dressed,
peppers, colour of red, olives black and
pitted green, potatoes in jackets, split,
filled with cream, soured and chives well hidden.
Bread, chips, chilli dips, crimson Mary’s,
ports and wine, foreign ales.
Mulberry, chocolate and tannic hints,
sun-kissed harvests swallowed, long legs forming.
Glass shatters, splinters, shards, dispensed.
A spider discovered, crushed in the frenzy.
A moment’s sadness.

I listen, to running water, a musical rhapsody,
metal on metal, flirtatious pauses, contentment.
Engine’s splutter, doors slam,
words flung to the wind, caught, held,
I listen.

And silence is heard above the whisper of ocean
as a moonlight caress tickles my mind
and I listen and hear a child’s delight
as all boundaries unwind.

On Moonlight Bay