1.iv.22
818
3.91
first morning of the
world
and god was
if we say
the busy one, the maker
gathering all blue to nest
bolting here there too
somebody had to
none knew day’s other parts back then
each new as his her skin
but someone thought to sing
then all sorts swam
air was
action rudimentary
we would come to flight
all innocent, shat the shore
washed away with dreams
that’s where we lived and how
all crows’ feet in the clay
nothing written down
took wheel to axe
where forest sprang
called it garden then
it was all the one day
till we came to the clock
and now we’ve come again
we dream for the gone
selves we are
somewhere in the clock accused
a grasswind
arrived to me
a pointing
throw pictures
like the rug seller
fleece to the table
like lanolin
throw them from my head
in pencil, paint, by hand
I dreamt that someone was checking my words
often you won’t see the rules
still follow nevertheless
the diner with the plots proclaimed
hit men
(wouldn’t want them to know you knew!)
next the toff school suburban
vertiginous stairs
come down by railing
don’t look
the long walk home from the shops
not so long since
gutter, kerb
streetside., Mayfield, I think
little ornaments of a life
still shelved as if indoors
and the sun shone on the washing
it was only a moment though then
there were other places, faces
now they too are lost
we dream for the selves that are gone
abandoning the calendar
well slept
in every other year of my life
sky blue and creek roar too
there was a language I should be learning
a palette of the breezes
for somewhere to go
on other days
in other hours
and worded from the world
breath by breath
and deep in throes
in every other life
I dreamt the world to peace
away for a day
still with us now
falling apart
and that’s just to begin
come rescue, won’t you?
other seasons
suns shone
end in a cell
just the size of yourself
as lost as ever you were before
just making it up as you go
