Lavender mist blends field to hill
seabirds pick the grass for small critters.
Smoky heron elegant in beak
black-backed gulls, sharp in squawk.
Floodlamps pool the hollows of a skatepark
brighter than any star will be tonight
the birds don’t seem confused.
When they are done, they
fly purposefully across highway
where headlights shine in flickering beams
across bushes like an old movie projector.
They fly straight into salty tussock
where they will sleep.
I walk the hill by trees that shouldn’t be here
feel the magic of the moon yet to rise.