byron bay

end of night;
cool bay mist, white,
wraps itself around the lighthouse
that leans over the cape,
watching...

champagne streaks of day collect
in their outstretched hands
the remnants of night,
scattering to the breeze
the lingering drops
of darkness, who splash,
salt-scented, into morning.

Gulls run at the waters edge,
pushing back the tide with
tiny webbed feet,
squawking their triumph,
yet chased by stubborn waves
that need to land while morning lasts.

The long, hot Byron day
breathes deeply,
inhaling the caravan of aching city life;
exhaling it, grateful, onto white sands
under palms whose leaves, like
hundreds of lazy knives,
slice through the cares of a thousand miles away,
whispering,
"stay...
stay"

This poem is by Braja, my friend who once lived in Byron but now lives in India, she is an excellent writer and won an award for this poem.I have her in the blogs that I follow, check her out!