Poem Category: Australian

The way the frog’s slither

is slimy

from the boy’s hands.

Blazing sun

anticipated this

the cicadas’ wall of sound.

Web …

how the life in the moth

becomes a spider.

Dust storm

the farm’s drought

vanishing.

Winds tap

the hen house waits

in the fox’s shadow.

Latin music

drawn to the rhythm

on Laurel’s hips.

Warm kitchen

grandfather’s breakfast

in our hurried meals.

On the wall of graffiti

we pass at lunch,

nearly perfect … a blue orchid.

Crow caws

deepening

the city’s fog.

This morning’s fog …

I am swallowed in the park

with magpie calls.