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The top-most curls of
stone-warmed air breathe,
breathe deep and long,
a mother's touch
long absent.

Sky scraped cirrus
laid out above,
platters of dreams
shifting, changing,
forming, fleeing,
once seen and gone.

Lilac breeze ripples
broad ocean swells of air.

On sunned tipped splay,
stirred lizard backs appear. 

 * *

Cuts come to me,
absorbed in kneecap visions,
hair wet and dripping,
creektouch fresh: 
and blood from shattered carcass,
minute against skin pores.

Peace echoes with rapid fall;
water into sandstone;
lulling summer blindness;
inward turned and languid,
laughing at colours, scents,
slit-eyed and demon-free.

Currawong breathes inwards
and launches into spiral song. 
He pulls my heart and head
out of reverie 
in a moment's time
to see the light begin to fade.


Poem by Averil Bones

Photograph by Duane Locke

Apathy Hangs

to Duane   /  to Moongate