I hear the
thumpetathumpetathumpeta
of chopper blades struggling
with an angry sky

And am somehow drawn
to a faceless stranger
once leanmeanandnineteen
lying in a field a world
away from where
he used to play
with ball and glove
on summer days

A rivulet of red
has pooled around him
and he is strangely numb
after cold and fear have
squeezed his ragged body
of whatever will remained
after his final battle

But he is not alone
for we are there
to hear his name
and see his face
and watch with him
the settling dust
reveal the evening sky

Along the far wall
beneath the outstretched
limbs of jacarandas
I see him walking
each morning at
his constant time
even when the sun still
half asleep hides behind
overburdened clouds

Sometimes he
waves and
sometimes he
smiles but
mostly he just
walks on looking
down the road to
where I wonder

And I only
watch him briefly
now and again
on days when
I am able and
on days when
I am not I know
that he is there

Until the day when
I look out and see
that he has reached
his destination traced
by constant footsteps
beneath the outstretched
limbs of jacarandas
along the far wall

He stood tall and straight
arisen from a heavy slumber
once begun as shelter
from an overwhelming deluge
of impossibilities

which had collapsed
into a prison of
his own construction

until his limbs
petrified by
abandonment



climbed his way
to vertical

leaning only to
balance his
steps

forward

I'm going to make
pancakes today
and I won't be grumpy
if they're lumpy

Because I'll know
what's in 'em
and how good they'll be
in me

In the early hours
when yesterday recedes
into today
and dreams begin
to slip away

The still black
of night fades into bluesilver
as distant drums
lay rhythm
for the marching sun

What value is there
in a promise
fulfilled with ease

Compared to one
that finds its way
to you in shreds
on hands and knees

deadlines missed
only know
what isn't done

but Progress
knows everything
and how far you've come