Night vision

His whole life
he has dreamed of
a Himalayan sunset

and now on a bus
20 miles from Pokhara
he is staring at the freckles
on the back of a stranger’s neck

they are a constellation not
unlike the southern cross
studding the night sky
of her nape
slender tanned familiar

and outside
Annapurna glows
impossible shades of
pink and red
and something nothing
like orange

and he is lost
in the night sky of
a stranger’s neck.

Decomposition

In paddocks cracked
and steep dam banks
beneath distorted
eaten limbs
pianos graze
on shifting dunes
of memory dust
and sunset hymns

out-of-tune
twisted twanged
broken keys
like old dogs’ teeth
they strike a chord
in this ruined scape

no chandeliers
or potraits hung
of Bach or ­­Brahms or Beethoven

their skewiff tunes ring out
across big skies and crusted scats
while old choughs
mourn the dying day
a tumbleweed opera
so perfect in decay.

Word of moth

In the marketing report
someone had written

key marketing strategy
goodwill
– word of moth

and though I knew
it was a typo
I wept
to think of moths

whispering kind words
into the ears of
strangers.

Solving the transport crisis

Tear up the freeways
and clearways
the tram tracks and taxi ranks
pave the cities with
polished linoleum

then with youthful
exuberance
and stockinged feet
we will glide
and glide and glide.

Surfacing

I will breathe for
you if you will breathe
for me

and we will be like scuba
divers in a sea
of false idols and broken
promises

if you will bring the flippers
i will bring the snorkel.