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The lone fisherman greeted suns first light
dressed in shorts and brown shirt then bare feet
swivelling in wet sand
amidst the water’s edge
where his yellow bucket held another round of bait
dawn approaching
seagulls encroaching on his piece of today
where fishing lines arched backward then forward
meeting the oncoming waves
then the surrendering of the tide

A solitary figure
he cut a plane between night and day
the shadows of morning
as he lent cautiously over the baiting of another hook
fishing rod angled

The waters breath was peacefully forgiven
clouds and wind had run away
leaving the fisherman
his bait and bucket
to fish out the morning
in Callala Bay