No more I say
I have been too often
to the dark side of the moon
be silent Berrima
let dumb trees
succumb to their own white shado\vs
the river turn
swallow the brown tongue
feed upon itself
I have come to a pause
sullen trunks ignore
incandescence of ashes
seared brands of cold fires
where the watertanks
squatted weighed down
with a century of ivy
pipes bandaged roughly in hessian
to prevent freezeup
the columns have fallen
beards sprout on sandstock faces
steamrollered
under sky


I shall leave you
a spool of woollen words
a sign and a silence
a nest exposed upon a leafless tree
wind strips
petal leaf and husk
I've watched it happen
no lightning
severing the trunk
with sudden smoke
just weathering
the slow attrition
thin fog weaving
through evening air
consumes park and prison
tree and wall
translated
You are the centre
and the silence
the stillness
at the fountain mouth
uprush imperceptible
the light outspreading
glass curtains
movement
by resistance
marking rim and bowl
disappear
the pool deepens and darkens
no splash
no overflow