"Moreton Mirror"

I nodded to a stranger
by the ferry pier,
and the stranger nodded back,
his eyes holding the flat shimmer
of the bay at low tide.

When his brow folded
it was like the mangroves bending
to the southerly;
I felt my own lines deepen.
Every small movement I made,
he echoed -
until I greeted him
as though we’d hauled crab pots together.
The lie tasted of salt.

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