9 am on a beach of driftwood

brown bottles surrounding last night's fire

sweet scent of eucalypt

discarded by the waves and the Shoalhaven

a July gale then a heat so welcome

the drinkers gone with the stars

now an opened ski jacket

firing my chest

cracked grey arms in easy reach

one in hand to turn the fire

blasted orange to black

smoke disappeared in another gust

before swirling back to my eyes

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