All white and reflecting back black

a glass upended,

in sheet water, suspended.

Like an iceberg balancing buoyant

struggling to float,

dead weight to velocity, can’t cope.

Sinking in the strand-covered sand

dry drowning in fear,

we are wreaking out here, on the pier

It’s always there the threat tap

of what might be,

act of sedition, or a mindless fantasy?

My duggid ways pulled you under ulu

tickling against the marina,

then disappearing into the ether,

  - fever.