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 Anderson,

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…

I used to come to your house

My heart

knocking at the door. A last 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.