after pissing
on the trumperor's parade
so much water under the bridge

why fuss so, cicada?
my imago must be
four times yours

her lavalava
colours Sale'aula's field —
the lingering heat

cow cockies spark off
each other

her earth mound
new for only a day
or two

epitaph granite faced to the end

still water
the night heavy
over itself

extinct shadows
re-enact the thrill
of the hunt

in shadows
my search for words
to be ignored

open grave doubts about life