This one is about a pier cutting across the water, disappearing into the distance. It could be anywhere.
The pier
carves the
water in a zigzag
crawl between
dusk’s brow.
It scutters
into the airwaves,
motionless with
nowhere to fall.
Small fences
mark its depth
in metre
dashes spread along,
small men
waiting in line
to hold up
the sky in thrall.
Clouds blow
left to nether right,
skirting the
silent obscured drift.
Nothing crawls
in the in between,
no sounds except
the cicada’s
notes and
the birds full singing
as the
water breathes against wood.
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