Last Ferry
Late, inside this windowed room, the moon gone,
the Lady Wakehurst contends with each reflected
beam of light – the glass widows of bulbs
thrown about the dark, and like a ballroom
swaying from drink and dance, each of her
lit windows, arrive, aligned and shipshape,
suspended, see-sawing above the table,
as she travels the triangle between
this room, Manly and the Quay
(Image: Carol Jenkins - click to enlarge)
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