It is waiting for an event you know will come
over the invisible horizon out there beyond
indecipherable headlands, on the other side of sea-fog
transforming air. The little planet
is doing its bit with our behaviour rubbishing survival.
Its only tools water, air, a soft heart and the wind
of spin. It can’t help itself, not now.
An opportunity for market forces’ cure all.
That chimera shrouding the horizon might be controlled
to feed on all our waste, on all the dung of greed.
Fog-busters need an accountable advantage even though
enterprise devour more than the source of life:
the sea, the tide, the edge of everything.
This is an accurate visual description of an actual event which carried an emotional and intellectual spin off about the behaviour of people in their environment and then to an immediate personal situation in which there appeared to be no resolution discernible, even to despair. This process applies to many poems I have written about the Merri Creek, the ocean and rain where a complex of images reflects a personal problem. Some editing for simplicity and clarity.