A smouldering grid on a cypress stand
Leaving Melbourne, the highway curves slowly past estates
Everything’s reduced in proportion: we’re not warriors, after all
There’s no silence like the silence of a huge crowd
It took Cain a lifetime of black sweat
Before the storms arrived last night, constellations danced
I was reading the announcement of an element discovered
I call them out to greet you: your groundlings
At 30,000 feet, only the clever calligraphy
Early summer sun’s
Leaving Melbourne, the highway curves slowly past estates
When Dad’s gait became too unsteady even for a walking-stick
Over red clay that’s been turned for my Dad’s tombstone
Above trees I can see through the kitchen window
‘I suppose I must have been unaccustomed to the noise.'
Galileo climbed to the top of the tower from where he addressed his students
We're announced by a little bell as we enter.
In this old Western you’re watching, you’ll see me
Like missing-person posters at the local mall
The thing about water lilies is, you have to trim the dead bits
I’d watch TV while my grandmother baked and roasted
Mid-war, mid-century, mitteleuropäisch.
And the starkness of a single line at the end of his biography
We saw him once: ushered into the back room at the record store
Head up the street from here and you’ll see two sailboats