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
ReplyDeletea turbine poem
between reverberations
languid as the wind