Poem Category: Australian

in a fire
apart from the future
everything is lost

in the high country
a feather worked loose
of an eagle’s dive

still out of sight
the rising voice
of a waterfall

he watches her
spray-hose
the climbing roses

free from the earth
the butter-pan sizzles
of our mushrooms

her herbs
scenting the garden
scenting the rain

afternoon heat
the scents and foams
of the ferry’s wake

backyard Oak
I whittle on a copy
for our mantelpiece

a crow’s ruffle
whooshing up the quiet
behind me

piebald cat
licking her black spots
in the shade