Layers of history

unravel and coalesce

and still the sun sets

I was counting the blossoms on the cherry tree

and checking the blackbird’s nest for eggs

when I heard a murmur behind the glass;

I was walking between the moonah dunes

when the path turned in towards the road

but out of sight, and the clamour of waves

Every morning, for months now,

the lorikeets have come at dawn

to the flowering gum by my window

The grey washed-out sky

rinsing the day of its heat:

even here there’s beauty.

Layers of colour

pour into the dawn like strokes

of a painter’s brush

After more than a week

I’ve started reading poetry again

today was C.K. William’s The Dress

Can I take comfort in knowing

that he didn’t know

it was coming

The morning light weaves

a patchwork quilt of shadows

on the fallen leaves