Sounding Line

It's impossible to

know what you hear out

there, if the cockatoos

carry across the water to

you: paper lanterns rushing

the leafless, rising branches

of the red gums, trunks

two-thirds submerged. And

it's barely perceptible when

you do move: a small pebble

cast from the boat, and then

another and another; the

tentative ripples stay close. I

can’t help but wonder if you

sense it too: the stillness of

the water; if you’re testing

the surface tension to see if it

would carry your weight if

you happened to step out.