Here, the sea’s bowl –
the harbour with still, white boats
and coloured flags – a Dufy carnival,
lines crisscrossing, the arch of the bridge
against roofs of scattered houses, shops.
It is afternoon, late summer –
how the promise of ships lies lazily
across the myriad bays
reaching as far as eye can see.
The landscape-class, easels set up
have it leisurely before them.
Their canvasses reflect this bluest of light
where the tutor’s words float like gulls
wheeling in and out among Moreton Bay figs.