a ghost of a smile and a shadow of a child, little invisible arms reach out and stroke her outstretched belly.
a brief wave of comfort and then nausea and then lethargy, and the weary worness of a day long.
whispers in the kitchen flow down the little way to the brown door painted and hearing me.
the man is comfortable in his house with his home and his safe fence all brown and mildew.
a long list of to do's and a saucerful of secrets leaching through the brown stained crack.
dust gathers at the doorway after the rain and eventually collects with the mud and drags in.
spring in the southern suburbs a home family with tv dinner and attachments.
the gristle splits with that grainy tear and the little demons sucker the flesh and pig.
the island burns and the smoke rises into the ever darkening sky of the day.
but the war is finished and the trams still run the cobbled streets and trains rattle their tracks.
brilliant orange wavers outside my window and into my dreams.
my canvasses flow bright and my scores drag it up.
she throws it across the table and it flies up and around to us all there that night.
we listen and some comment and some smile and some are silent.
it is half moon in a gathering month and the clouds move languidly in the city springtime.