That boat you see, tourist in this land of travellers, 
claims it once brought clay urns to Pithacusæ,  
to store wine and grain, and sometimes babies, stillborn, 
slipped into those cold second wombs by silent husbands… 

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        Beneath
lizard bellies of planes… 

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I might have met you there, windows for our back-drop,
a blood-orange sun, a burning sea, and me…

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Tap, tap, tapping 
I wait
between bed and chair…

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Silver City Highway [For Katherine Green]

Next day a night of flooding keeps us from Tero Creek, 
driving us instead to Menindee, to charcoal trees
breaking the skins of silvered milk lakes, to roo bones 
buried beneath bracelets of pale gold Paddy melons.

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BUZZARD:   First published in Poems in the Waiting Room                         http://www.poemsinthewaitingroom.org/

Dusted by afternoon light, it swooped down,
so close I might have touched its pale belly 

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Groom feathers breeze-shifting and mouse-stained.
Learn the songs winds sing between hills.

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