shall we begin with a curtsey 

to the dark of an entire night 

with it’s intruding memory of stilled light 

and the way shadows become shaped 

like unarticulated words 


nesting birds must fear the wind 
how it topples the woman who kneels 

at tiny graves 

     swollen with salt and water 


alcohol is a synonym for acrimony
and desolation is a committed pose

cramping the muscle behind sore ribs 


no ones asks, but it remains the same
a linear ascension 

an exhausting rhythm 
over and over again


there are always only hours to 

writing poetry in the wildbush 

inkberries staining fingertips 

lah  7.12.15


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