Monday, July 16, 2018

James Walton #105 Twelve megawatts to evening

a fox so cruel

in its beautiful unmercy
where black swans

trawl beyond mine shaft warnings

a mob of grey roos
languid as a marinade

scratch at rear thighs

old gardeners resting
on a cushioning rake

the wind turbines

obelisks in need of a pharaoh
sift the sky for a language

only written in stone

at the end of the trail
all this thirsting water

the hospital helicopter

skims a stitching reverberation
on the mid-winter tide

this is a place to lie down

between shaking centuries
let something run away with me

into a chiaroscuro frame

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