The last of the shad flies yo-yo in front of me

the dead ones still cling to the side of the house,

gulls, having feasted their fill

have lost interest, and leave them hanging there.

A few fly to my white dressing gown. Another light?

Lighter than what surrounds me,

and surely that is light enough, as the sun

bleaches all subtlety from grasses, shrubs and trees,

muting the sky to a milky blue haze,

a blinding brightness, like the intensity of my life,

blotting out nuance and the usual considerations.

I blurt out the truth of the moment — no shade

covering the fierceness I need to keep on.

Only the breaking breeze gives warning

of the water's colour piercing the flat grey-green

to the golden rocks below and their shadows, where minnows

dart around the crab's slow drift.

Look sharp to the breeze.