Walleah Press        


Estuary Evening

   Only the sound of oysters feasting
             and sand castles dissolving
     into searching water.

                        The tide.

    It shepherds tumbling weed
in from wild sea, fingers
                  over ribbed flats

        where the heron dabs
      at pirouetting soldier crabs,
           blue sky captured on their backs.

Ahead the night, above the sea-eagle
       gifted by an ebbing thermal;
                 shadow incites
                  the mullet ballet.

     Hither on mangrove channelled
      greener water, an old man oars

     to heart-known spots
ghosted by grandfather whistling Duke Ellington,
 cardiganed and baited

  for flathead. Now his hands
       trenble with knots, lungs fester
     on each breath but in dreams

a flawless estuary where people long gone
    call his name from eucalypt-shaded banks.

   The old man smiles, knows he'll soon
          find such water,
   his guide the tide that doesn't turn.

Other poems by Andrew Milson

Justice in Court 3A

Short fiction by Andrew Milson

Peace of Mind