In the depths of an opal
dark shadows sway.
In the Pacific at Tathra wharf
stingrays make those shadows;
kite-shaped ocean floor grazers

they glide between pilings,
barbed tails waving
in chthonic rhythmic
underwaterworld sway,

black wings undulating;
around the edges
ruffles peak and dip,
glimpses of pale underskirt

I wonder if they noticed yesterday
when three bodies plummeted
into their sky,
splashed and struggled
for a while then

and floating there beside them
like Ra’s sky boat
a suddenly redundant pram. 

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