Beside the Water's Edge

In memory of Belinda Kemp.

On the day
after,
the night
you died.

Before I knew.
I went
and sat
and hid
beside
the water's edge,
below ground level,
by way
of the concrete
boat-ramp.

Descended,
into
salt
water.

I noted
distinctly,
that there was
a body
of water
spanning
the circumference
of the world.

The existence
of which,
profoundly, became
the focus
of my
present moment
conscious mind.

On that cold,
but,
deceptively
well-lit
by the Sun,
day,
set-dressed,
to give
the illusion,
of a future,
that, just
never was,
ever going
to happen.

The watery-edged
earth,
dipping,
was
gently
being,
tilted,
slipping,
under
the waves.

Then,
out.

With next door's
melted iceberg's cold,
transparent, briny,
liquid sheet lines,
swirling in direction,
straight back,
and forth.

From one
side
of the earth
at my front
to
the other.

Ended
at my back.

Beside the beach
where Erroll Flynn
learned to swim,
as a small boy
and where,
we, also,
made history,
whilst in the car
we ate hot chips,
(with sauce),
along with
the real,
live,
detachable,
child's safety-seat
ornament,
protection watchdog
attack chihuahua
on stand-by,
on top
of the back seat.

A forest green
(almond shaped
and manga)
eyed
knotty, red-haired,
little girl,
skinning
a dim sim
in pink and gray,
bull-whip
displaying,
'Catwoman',
t-shirt.

We worked out
how to win, 
'Australia's Funniest
Home Videos'
when offering
a floppy,
salt encrusted,
steaming, red,
splotch-ended,
chip, through
the windscreen,
to the,
ignorant-
of-its-barrier
properties,
thrice numbered,
flock of sea gulls,
that,
as we
drove away,
followed
the moving
car.

Flying
in tandem
with it.

Still in swoop,
and still,
uselessly
pecking,
at the grey,
steam residue
condensate
cornered,
safety-glass.

To, all
of
our
delight.