IMPROMPTUS

 

Who stole the cripple’s ukulele

or stole the cripple away?

I used to fear for him, playing underfoot

in the halls of the railway.

*

My grandmother, an Aderson,

was speaking of me, I could have sworn,

when she told my sister

“Kohl rabi for dinner.”

*

In my dream, I was leaned far out

among the cordage

of a yawl, in the morning

of the world.

 *

Just half a loaf, Arthur.”

On his bike

he drifts into the night, and seems a yacht,

a white shadow passing.

 *

When we come to reminisce,

a silver tear

falls from us both

among the cutlery.

 *

Wading in ferns,

waist-deep, at twilight. On the horizon

a tanker barely moves, and the clouds

are translucent as pearls.

Rain towards morning …

A house above the shore

where I used to go, with my heart

knocking on the door.

*

Along the tight poles of eucalypts,

across their vanished height,

which makes them seem stage curtains with deep pleats,

the night train’s bare spotlight.

*

A crushed light on the cold water. Nature 

stirs with a dream of man,

but in a moment all of that has passed

and she can dream sleep again.