September 2013

second coming . . .
creation groans along
its birth canal

endless night . . .
a harp wails for the woman
no longer there

after dusk —
chalk absorbs the last
of the blood

this winter . . .
another fine line
I tread

giggling child . . .
the butterfly effect
stays beyond her

river source . . .
sparrows peck away
the way back

empty sky . . .
a morepork pierces
my darkness

rank paddock . . .
a token scarecrow
for old times

piece by piece
a rifleman feathers
its nest

summer death . . .
see how the rice
now moves

rainbow . . .
my eyes seek out
the keystone

mine is not
to reason why . . .
not mine

hill country —
the forest above
and below

sunset —
the horizon
rusts away