Poem Category: Australian

squawking in turns
at the sand storm
gulls in a circle

in mists…
the voices our bathroom has
for her songs

oil paints…
the bowl of fruits
before it corrupts

harvest town
early breakfasts for us
have a purpose

demolition
a bob-cat still in the bedroom
this morning

night breeze
a sunflower sweeps
against the brick wall

the moon-rise snakes
in slow curves
of the river

sundown ahead
turning the wind
to black

mountain eagle
I am the ears
who hears its cry

sunflower
a little breeze
in its waves