here comes everyone
globalising images
of autumn
in the towns 
the rusting debris
of empire

on our wedding anniversary

one bed
for 360 moons
you and I
lights out —
shadows on the street
divining stars
words words words —
always the shortfall
from birdsong
loose-leafed light —
dreams of empire
rot below
light alight 
the ash of words
inscaped
womb-dark
the stillbirth
of light
wafer moon
between his fingers
a wormhole
new moon
at one with
the night
new moon . . .
a glimpse at nothing
right through it
 
wordsmith stone
rewriting (l)intimitations
of mortality

exacerbating this nowness of words

breathless
in the dark silence
of 3 am
a fall! a fall!
haiku momentum lost
in Latin
voices far off . . .
deep in late mountain light 
greenness rises
of morning
the best of what was
in a word
shooting stars
my sights skew
inwards
old age —
cave drawings move
on the wall
third-hand smoke
what was never before
becomes the all
a breeze
breathes about
the absolute
putrid silence
ancient eels sip
the surface
Anzac poppy —
the first taste
of colonial blood
mountain light —
mouthing words until
they do not do
the same fingers
flickering still
to the death
of light
a camera
marking the death-knell
of becoming
autumn tide —
which way tugs
stronger?
puzzlement
clouds eyes gazing
at clouds
curling sunset
the death toll
of leaves
 
shortfall
with each year 
I am less
plucked clean
the plumage of
concealment
into a river
the dark matter
between stars
 
within
the space of thought
pomegranates
ripening
on the ground
figs
 
a squirrel carcass
fills out 
its own shadow
not quite real
lightning and thunder
while we chat
in sea roar
eyes distilling
stillness
for this world
a leaf and its tree
drift apart
my daughter!
for this moment
none younger
morning fog —
the flesh of shadows
cast by words
midnight sojourn
tap tap tapping
hidden springs
bows
of bobbing boats
to the moon
ahh! wide eyes —
the bubble of a word
on a baby's lips
moon, hill, mist . . .
I am 
what I conceal
colonial fall —
every man jack
on his knees
shining cuckoo —
manifest destiny
on the prowl
star night —
just words mapping
the 'I'
word spell . . .
leaves conjure bird song
calling my name
secret room . . .
my shadow merges
into me
mid-autumn light —
from retrospective paintings
colour rustling