Your cicada heart

You are the silk
Of the daybreak sky


The night’s bruise fading


Summer is skintight 


The ceded shape
See-through and splitting


Watchful with
The shells of yesterday’s eyes


The husk of armoured life
No longer needed


Stretched autumn loose 


You ask, looking up
To see what I see
What is there left in the empty blue?


I feel the breath of wings


We drift far apart


As fast approaching winter afternoons

Castoff people

You scowl, with that wire coat hanger angularity 
At castoff people, cuffs and elbows askew
Hung on racks in rows marked clearance
End of line, stock discontinued, as if 
Evolution had reached a point
Where adaptation were, not now impossible
But moot, it is the phenotype that, so often
Sways the genotype, but now department stores
All look, almost exactly the same


One day, I suppose they will fuse my spine
With robot wires and cyanoacrylate
I will lay, by the crooked looming weight
Of an old ghost gum, who bent to weep
The noon still river, shades all who choose to sleep
But may only ever reach
in reflection


Still, we wait, a long season
To weave new lives and baskets
When with that swelling, whispered voice
The river rushes bloom