MIRAGE
You see before you a mirage.
It could be a cool, translucent moon,
Half-hidden among clouds.
Surely you hear owls hooting.
Surely the world is asleep.
Surely the air is cool,
Maybe even chilly.
But you are deceived.
This is a heatwave sun rising.
Already the air is heavy,
The skin is moist,
The pulse beats sluggishly.
This mist,
Is not a cool caress,
But a warning,
Drifting in from the sea.
Soon it will 'burn off'.
'Watch out' they say
'When the mist burns off.'
It is the height of the Australian summer.
And don't we know it!
