The morning moves in shouting like a desert.

An ear to the ripples
washing the lagoon ladder,
the other to the waves
lapping onto the golden sandspit.

The eyes adrift
across the creased turquoise.

A silent prayer
to the storm looming north.

The swooshing breeze
grows to howling gale
as a pallid rainbow
gently bends beyond the pier.

And sluggish time all of a sudden slips away.