Frigate Birds

Frigate birds

For two days we have watched the cyclone clouds
building to the north and east: suddenly
three frigate birds arrive over the narrow bay
out of the slate-grey dusk and the roiling horizon.
They have sailed on their scissored wings
to sanctuary here where the low hills and reef
fend off the worst of wind and wave.

My woman and I are old hands at cyclones:
We have cowered with the best for long hours
in creaking houses, measuring the strength
of wind by the pitch of the banshees
screaming in the lifting eaves, and the crash
of African Mahoganies in neighbours' gardens.

Now, seeing the casual Fijian staff
making half-hearted preparations for the storm,
we are calm and knowing to other guests:
but something within me chimes a soft alarm
watching those fearless children of the air
dipping and sliding over the wind-whipped bay,

And I wonder what vast and brutal power
is coiling out there in the vacant Pacific.