under the casuarinas

these mottled shadows mark a middle day

when even buzzing flies do not distract

and all the senses into calm contract

all who are wise seek shelter from the ray

desiring to keep head and heart intact

these mottled shadows mark a middle day

when we pass through we’ll catch sight of the bay

in middle distance through a glass that’s cracked

and in the haze not tell what’s dream from fact

these mottled shadows mark a middle day

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