that I've never been able to get quite right. So I had another fiddle with
it. Any thoughts?
All the best
A
The Harbour
He notes the wind sharpening his throat
every time his hand touches his collar.
Monsters hoop their tails and vanish
in the distant ocean, undeciphered.
Once he could dilute their roars by clapping
the clear sun up and asking it to dance
but now he hears them on the edge of hearing
always, a sullen tide withdrawing
from an empty room.
Flute of a dead god, he lingers
where water nags old bones and rusty tins.
The cold swarms like fire. He waits there
until the cold is cold.
Angel, how numb your shoulders are,
how they sag under the feathers
that pull you down to the dark rim
of a darkening earth. And when you lift your eyes
from the burdened water, they gleam
briefly, a light that no light gives you,
not the blazing steel ships nor the quiet
moon nor even the orange flare
of a match, your eyes gleam
cold with the agony of presence.
Alison Croggon
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au
Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com
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