It is there

It is there in the weight of unshed tears,
that understanding of parting,
the knowledge of permanent separation
that will be the peace of growth. It
is there in the Christmas smile
of a toddler, in that moment of delight
when one more gift
is placed in their hands.
It is there in the holding of hands,
in clumsy, squeezy hugs
that remind us friends and lovers
care, that they are only as distant
as our eyes see them
and as close as our beating heart
feels them. It is there in special memories,
the flashbacks of good times
when the sun rose with each dandelion,
and in challenges when we worked
alone walking in the footsteps of no other.
It is there, in the weight of yesterday.
It is there, in the eyes.

A cooler breeze

A cooler breeze catches in the space between leaves
turns them out, sets them whispering, flying,
caught on the bow of Autumn
pushing the warmth towards the tropics
where the sun embraces palms and white sand.

Here in the south, birds fluff chests,
peck sparingly at the cabbage tree berries -
great star-burst flowers that poke the grey
from the sky. Black birds fall

to the ground to break their fast
among weed and worm,
stretched worms
reluctant to leave the arms of the earth.

The breeze is cool, and the sea slips
across the beach, laps the land
that dawn sifts in light, cleans the track
where footprints walked to the sun.

The Morepork


The morepork calls
after dusk sets the day.
Night trails open for snails

to make their way, silver threads
their map, outlines their journey
from lawn to moon-glazed window.

Beyond the wind
where lack of sleep twists
the sheet of night, binds
us beneath the roots of day, beyond

the spider webs cast across black trees,
beyond the crush of waves
that turns rock to sand,

the morepork gives life
to the coffined edges of night.