Wading

Bait fed out there, like jazz hands on the lagoon

I had to take a closer look. The gobies on the sand scattered

before me until the water kissed my shorts, but still

the spark meandering frenzy stayed away.

Something was chasing them, or circling under them.

The sheen of water kept knowledge at bay. I was tempted

by what, or whom, to increase my vantage by climbing

up a jutting rock, but the late sun kept the water dark.

Then something darker, and in motion, I fell back,

and shouting splashed away. In the foreground, at my feet

had flown a scheming spotted eagle ray, spineless

as I noted quickly, though its eye said get out, these are not

your fish, its gentle wings waved back to me, when

safe on shore, I heard the susurrus of bait once more.

Lucas Smith is a writer from Gippsland and California. His work has appeared in Australian Poetry Journal, The Lifted Brow, Southerly, The Rialto and elsewhere.