A smouldering grid on a cypress stand
I suppose my mother’s gesticulations from the women’s gallery
A B-grade movie drumbeat of doors and panes,
Unfazed by the coast road, we welcomed the challenge.
Here's how I first saw it.
The picture shows a man leaping from a second-floor window.
I know that there will be a night when we
If from the emptiness of space we’re surprised to hear
Mothers never fare well in these stories:
Some took with them amulets, propped parasols, jade slaves,
It begins with an aleph, the diminutive
Bowler-hatted, unsmiling, moustachioed,
So there we were, jammed together on the back seat,
Tonight, America, the stars above you have been blotted out
Heat arrives from over the Brindabellas
is because they yearn to go back
Vessels shaped by the light they hold