Tasmania: One End of the World

Tree covered hilltops looming, angry with fog,
Are soothed by the blossoming sunset -
Dusty pink clouds gently kissing them goodnight. 
The rocks below, alight with lichen, warm them carefully. 

The ocean in the light had glowed turquoise, 
Like sea-soothed glass to be touched and gathered and stroked, 
To be tucked in purses and slipped into pockets. 
At night, its true colours are clear:
Bitter green and furious grey, 
Frosted with vengeful white - 
Sharp like Antarctica.
Unforgiving like those broken bottles which tug and tear at flesh.