we are learning archaeologies of loss
rummaging along edge of island
turning each gift left by the tide
meanwhile, unseen at the edge of the atoll, fifty-eight
Tamils are escorted in; navy ship grey, fishing boat festive
jubilant in sunlight
within the lagoon’s still waters officers
insist on life jackets, clothing refugees
in orange irony
from SIEV to zodiac, zodiac to Customs, Customs to shore
shore to bus, they are watched, guided, guarded
a headline brews
but here we are oblivious, searching amongst the seaweed
finding thongs, whole bulbs and bottles, a toy soldier
minus his head
later, we drive through palms beneath tall towers of cloud,
past the Quarantine Station where the bus has just arrived
and the dust will not settle.