220
no telling
no telling
what
a sky could
do
it lowers,
lifts
it blows away
day's
rearranged to suit itself
this corner
here's a kangaroo
makes through
mist
here's a
pocket of birds crossing
they are
several songs
all morning
a fire's
still smoke
and it's come
through the rain
no telling
how the world
will turn
which
moment's next
but we're
with this one
no, it's gone
there simply
is
no telling
things rot
and rise to
the occasion
that must
have happened
see!
everything
suggests itself
that's how it
was before
you never
could have
predicted it
yackety yack
a poet drones
on
there's not a
whisper of wind now
everyone
loves
a sit-around
fire
when the
weather
is once-upon
gone
my new lyre
imparts the
half-written
'Fry's Creek
Ghost Song'
that was last
night
first light
casts empty in the branches
pale limbs of
such a death still stood
in a first
mist
no telling
be mossed
with all the
run of it
can't say
what's next
but here's
for sure
all now
see high up
in the vine
tangle
leaf lit
spectacle's
all
no knowing
what's next
to trickle
the creek
with a sun of
good standing
requires such
a first thing mist
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