burbling creeks sweep over our feet
the basketballs stuck on the roof-
somebody said that they won’t be our friend
so we play with the man on the moon

we scoot down the street with no helmets
and cycle the length of the track
mum makes dinner in the time that it takes us
to walk to the milk bar and back

our feet pick up all the loose gravel
we use every stone we can find to make rings
inviting the fairies to come dance with us
hoping we’ll catch sight of their wings

we climb to the tops of the monkey bars
my sister can skip four whole rungs
we sit on the couch in the sun room
and watch some old movie about bugs

we drink tea from my new porcelain tea set
and make up dances to dads old cds
we jump off the top of the bunk bed
and trust that we will land on our feet

behind the sweet silk moonlight,
beneath the genteel waves
a serpent glides forever-
through sand, through grass and thick

his scales glimmer, imminence
his eyes a rabid red-
his tail reeks of pestilence
yet barren is his instinct

he knows to keep on forward,
he knows no turning back
he wishes on each wishing star
that he decides the track

each day and on forever-
he dances in his mind
for all who came before him
withered in his time

he doesn’t want to do this
an omen for great loss
he dreams of gentle greatness-
he dreams of getting lost

the path set out before him
they say the only way
it’s on and on forever
‘til his children do the same

look out into the shadows-
behind where the group all stand
that’s where you will find me
hidden, but still there-

look past the oafish smiles,
all posed and forced alike
you’ll spot me in the corner
pictured- birth, death, and life

the kettle whistles steady,
lace cloth laid, the table set
fixed with quiet virtue-
an image of intent

my body holds me steady,
my mouth betrays the band-
each eye scant meets another
though bound by house and hand

and in my head i utter words
silently, yet still-
i pray for all of this to end
it feels it never will

we look upon these pictures
and laugh about our cheek
we don’t truly remember-
it seems just slight of reach

the hedges cut precisely
though thorns grow underneath-
alongside pristine pathways,
now overgrown with weeds

the memories that lay there
just below the clay-
dream and drift their weary heads
and wait to see the day

yet still our feet are planted,
the roses all ripped up
expected, still, by nightfall-
the teas gone from the cup

the petals rot beneath our toes
the lemon tree remains,
and with each whistle of the wind
we stand here, still, unchanged-

there lies a place, mere moments away
where you and i can go-
we’ll meet there by the apple trees,
summer rain and winter snow

and there beneath the soil
where the autumn leaves still rot
ready cellars brimmed with whiskey,
honey spilling from the ***-

we won’t see the colours
as they dip below the hill
nor hear the early risers-
as all the songbirds will

security, though plenty
will not a moments be-
yet all becomes the matter
when the matter comes to me

the seam of life, a canyon lies
a mirage of spirits true-
there between shadow and light
imposed, adrift, to you

resist, reluctant to believe it,
though some part surely knows
that nothings gone forever-
graveyard dirt, from flowers grow

and where the moonlight falters
within the barracks, dreams awake
a figment, phantom worry
from stillness, the earths quake

so here is where i’ll wait for you
to find a safe entry,
the space beside the absolute-
deprived, drained, empty, free

be still, listen, angels cry
a siphon of regrets-
soaked in cherry poison
poured upon our heads

hover, silent sleepers,
be sure the rest are due-
from ribbons tied, now frozen
time’s as cynical as you

and there, quiet, listen-
between the gardens green,
hear their whispers calling
to where the pigeons preen

though the ivy’s ever thicker
and the lily-pads, mildew-
our laughs forever echo
you and i, each, unto-

our secrets, rooted evermore
at the base of the wattle tree
heres where we lie forever
hand in hand, for eternity

stamp upon my forehead
tether to my hip
christened, this way forever
tossed aside the ship

a feather, duly noted
is much too soft a spell
when all the work is over-
a change, now just begun

amidst the lawless disarray,
amity, faith, endure good will-
the orders ever impend here
eternally, scarce of trill

there upon the seeded land,
where white red-roses roam
exacerbate, the further-
trek the path, quietly, home