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Pakiri Beach
for mike beveridge
From a wooden bach’s
silvery veranda
we walked above
a rusted barbed wire
boundary fence
half buried in white sand.
There were thorny shrubs
with big pale yellow berries
that squinted up at us.
Survivors on a margin
between paddock and dune
we had to step our way around them.
Before us the Pacific
bare and blue
unimaginably big.
So buoyant.
Its breakers cracking open –
the Pacific
Mike
the Pacific Ocean.
© Bob Orr
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