The Night Fishers. (Victoria 2010)

(Report on a failed mission)

Not moon, nor star, nor any light
In Southern Ocean’s deepest night.
Dark stopped view of dune and wave.
Black velvet midnight cancelled sight.

No other sense is like affected
And mind sees false from those selected.
Wit contrives distortion thus
Sends chaos. Actions disconnected.

Dune sand, stumble-kicked and dry-blown,
Wind-tossed, whisper-fine on air-flown,
Makes sharp caress on dark-blind faces,
Abrading harsh, fine grit in eyes-thrown.

Crash-hiss-rumble, surf on strand.
Wave tow burrows - how to stand
On beach dissolving 'neath the shoes?
The fishers sink in coursing sand.

Dense dark confounds them judging motion
Of night-cast missiles to the ocean.
Tackle launches - risky tangles,
Enticing fish? Aborted notion!

Unseeing anglers - deepest night,
Soldier on - sans luck, sans bite.
At length, returning to the camp said,
“Next time friends we’ll bring some light!”

Derek Pickard 2010