The white sail - Jill Jones

The city flows
as the ocean gives
its tides. Each day
and evening they move
through streets.

Outlines rise
and fallback again.
Cars almost crash
like rocks, but ferries
roll on forgiveness.

We meet at the wharves,
riding the handshake
of the great Pacific.
It runs in, green
with welcome.

Head and heart move high
in a gull's updraught.
All light is yellow.
Behind us the city absorbs
everything, harder than foam.

The glossy surface waits
for a touch of spray, the sight
of some forgotten rigging,
and the belly
of homecoming sail.

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Jill Jones (born 1951) Australia