Little seeds, growing.
Little shoots, showing.
Water gently flowing,
To seeds in the ground.

Little bulbs, forming.
Little layers, warming.
Sunlight is transforming,
Little onions in the ground.

Come sit here with me my friend.
Come and rest your weary feet
A comfy seat and window pane
As we watch the passing trains
And people on the street.

Come sit here with me my friend
Come and share with me your day
This sunny view and empty chair
Are not the same
Without you sitting there.

Christmas is here.
Your absence is my present.
How lucky I am
To have the gift
Of missing someone like you.

2020 Vision.

There’s no flying cars
We’re not living under the sea
Mars is still unsettled
Mail is not sent by rockets
But in 2020 all apples have faces now.

Apes have not evolved to work for us
Aliens have not made contact
We still have ten toes
We can not yet breathe under water
But in 2020 we sing songs instead of talking

There is still hunger
There is still war
We can’t yet teleport to a holiday destination
Or read each other’s minds
But in 2020 dorkiness got into the water supply.
Hibernation became an art form
Hermits live in communes
Elle Kay and Veda were never strangers again.

Poor rocket man your pride.
Like the black on my shirts hanging inside out in the sun
You miss the darkness of the sky and the glitter of stars
You just realised, I see in your eyes.
How far away you are.

Poor rocket man your weakness.
Flying to the moon never satisfied you.
From your house in the suburbs here on Earth
A heart that conquered the universe and,
The feeling never escaped you.

Poor rocket man your humanity,
You remember when the scenery flew by at the speed of sound,
Your feet never touched the ground
Remembering you lived in the sky.

I glimpsed you in the universe last night
A shimmering body revealed to me,
Made of Saturn's rings, and stars and heaven.
Resplendent in celestial light.
I felt you follow me on my walk this morning,
Each ray of sun, pebble, and leaf.
Sparkling dewdrops and breeze, your gentle apparition.
When fate forked out in front of me this day,
On the eve, of the anniversary of your death,
In the red heart of despair, and desperation
Your face was clear in my mind, and I would know it.
So that this time I may make a difference.

I think about you when I see a barefoot rider.
Or hear Fields of Barley or Is this Love.
Lime cordial doesn't taste the same.
And an egg is just an egg now.
Crying Little Birdy, dappled light and swaying curtains
Or alto voices that are lower than mine but just as bright.

I think about you when I use a dishwasher stick
That has the scourer with the detergent in it.
When I sit over the crack in a couch.
When it rains and it's cold.
When I have cold feet.
When I slip into cool sheets.

I think about you when Father Ted is on.
Imagine you in Paul Kelly songs.
When I smell cut wood, sanded back.
Or salt air.
Or see grey hair and weathered loved houses.
Or women in vests with lilac blouses.

I think about you in the water,
When I'm in the shower, or at the beach.
When it rains and when I drink.
In the blue and green and sometimes silver.
Or when I'm smothered in an unrequited love
That isn't yours.