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120109 slow dawn in the garden

17 Jan

magpie’s voice
drips from a jacaranda
the air is fresh and slightly cool
strange eyes watch me
spiders’ threads caress me, catch me
foliage defrosts to colours
crotons a-fire
one palm frond moves
and then

bamboo leaves
rustle and ginger waves yellow hands
little birds pass high in the trees
all’s still again
magpie’s throat honey-drips, again
pigeons coo in the eastern neck
four crows approach
calling sunshine
calling

the soil smells sweet
one pigeon tells of a sun dream
like an oboe
tell it again
no dew no rain
spider’s web shows itself, empty
warm me up, come on, warm me up
then suddenly
with rosellas
sunshine

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Posted by on 17 January, 2012 in #MoP12, POEMS

 

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