Logos smeared in shimmering rouge

On a night-hushed harbour

Fluorescent overtime

Cupping the tinkle-donk

Of tilting masts

Wildly pointing at the stars

In giddy accusation -

Skinned pets, parked 

Waiting for Sydney’s

Working wealth to wake

…

Perched on cement

Soothed by the quiet

Moored like these yachts

In obedient patience,

I consider our trembling marriage

…

The bridge yawns gracefully above

House lights huddle

On a borrowed headland,

Camped conversations

Silenced by distance

And the inky black spill

Of still ocean

The water is a kiss or a slap

Against the city’s concrete rim -

I can’t decide.