Citadel of crows: dagger-beaked
above the motorcycles ranked
out front of Mick’s monster burger van.
Hop. Skip. Peck up what’s left over;
their bare-faced opportunism
rising and landing between the wheels.
This ridge is fortress, brick bulwark,
shelters homeland spread on seaboard
like a Lego metropolis.
Look down, look closer down:
tight terraces and concrete blocks,
CCTV in cages. Unseen divides.
Beyond our watery perimeter
childhood’s playful hills dissolve
as night and mist enfold them.
The lit city transforms to circuit board,
pulsing with connections
that define us but have no name.
Clouds sail over creeks and harbour:
not every view is postcard, but always
winds move the shadows on.
Islands give boundary, lend distance,
are where if you want you can be
your own professor of secrets.