ALISON THOMPSON

Out here

where the sand dries crisp          where it breaks into wafers
and the hollowed bodies of fish have become parchment

where seaweed is stretched out like linen        print green in the sun
and a goanna has traversed the beach like a careless line-marker

where the wind skitters along at ground level                and stingray
are shifting shadows in the knee-deep water

where the children are at work             catching fish
sorting rocks categorising shells
out here when I hear you speak all I hear          is the wind behind me
out here when I open my mouth to answer          all I taste is salt