Rod Moran: ‘Saturday Morning’

Saturday Morning

A gentle morning glazes the lagoon.
Two roving sea-eagles, speckled like quartz,
White breasted, a drift of cinnamon wings,
Ride the luff of wind rising from a dune.
Golden coils of light spangle the water.
A mother swims with her embrace of children,
Father pondering a newspaper full of alarm.
Later, from out of a sapphire distance,
An F-18 sleeks in from the frontier.

Rod Moran