Poem Category: Australian

changing the tune
his trumpet had —
the attic

passing—
the lime bikini blonde
drips some surf on me

in these stones
I cannot find
the grains rain can

magpies
lighten the moods
I wake from

scooping stars
should sweeten our coffees
from the river

a growing wind
sweeps
the kindergarten sand

bush fire
it is not known
the panic in it

honey comb
tastes of the red Gum
tastes of the bee

surf’s up
the waves roll
the sunsets in

out the window
she cannot love
her birding cat