in my quiet house,
myself–
empty birdcage
in my quiet house,
myself–
empty birdcage
on the morning train the newborn watches me the whole way
obese woman holds
her little Betty Boop bag–
rush hour
I suck the bubbler
a kayak glides by
perhaps one day
a Brisbane tradition–
jacaranda blossoms
spring arrives!
the first clicks
of a gecko
the city drifts
in the smoke of spring
so soon after floods
I just watch from the balcony
half moon going up in smoke
night fox slits open red pawpaw
sometimes
I wish I could pray
to stones