Lucy Alexander #28 Wallaby

How the wisteria

holds up the pillars

the holly berries are as red

as broken blood vessels

and here he hops,

lip pity lip

as if he was always here

as if his song of this place

out numbers the years its stood

brick and tile here

that he has come from

some long distant past

to find that creek

or grassy slope

that once was here

all the long days ago

now stands in confusion

on the gravel

wondering what time has done

to his old map

and what that purple smell is

on the air.