sunbird against the window this morning first light must have come in through the new opened door purring wings against the glass quicker than the cat i cover her in hands still the beating wings feel her long beak find rest between fingers outside above the valley i slowly release her body no bigger…
it all belongs to the sky the rush of ocean and shadow horizon, it all belongs to darkness of night and the stars that lean forward touching skin with light older than thought, listening among the cicadas for the sound of our breath.
i was nearly twenty before i met anyone who lived by words alone, whose face shone with the taste of them spoken in small rooms of listeners, who lived light in this world – half of him hunting and gleaning the shadow world for words that could hold this falling apart. cancer took him young…
day ten of national lockdown finds me, sunday morning, pants rolled up above the knees – catching tadpoles on the clay bank of the garden swale. citizen science i tell myself silent giggling, squish mud intent – lurching after the the slippery platanna i had blind netted under the lily pad – though i…
(it is true our street was named for the first white settler who visited these shores with intent – in the seventies we thought this was ok) it was a childhood drawing of a house door window window walls bright yellow painted bricks. slightly to the right but still mostly in front, a jacaranda tree…
my words are few under this greying sky, wind tossing the trees among clouds that smell of rain while the goats stand by, watching in a reverent silence punctuated only by the drag of branch, snap of twigs. i had cut back the brambles yesterday – cool under a distant blue sky, picked my way…
i suppose i should pull in the washing before that light suddenly given form by falling rain sweeps across the valley to meet me, face to the storm, splatting on my page and arms gathering pooling running leaf spine and loud through the canopy. i suppose i should put down my pen before the sky…
wait it’s beautiful she said leaning her taller by the day self against my shoulder hand on my arm as the moon pulled free of the clouds haloing the sky and us where we stood waiting Radiant
i waited for him to cross my path, slender brown water snake terrestrial in the heat of the day. i too was heading to the river to swim, perhaps we would meet there in other skin.
loud like the taste of rain on my skin the cicadas sing the end of summer. drawing by Tim Hewitt-Coleman