Late trains drift from bedsides
where specimens in glass remain
unresolved
like a virgin or the unique
can only be erased once
unlike the many - again.
Tendencies soften and paunch
the mantles covering the dead
the suspects, the all.
How, ultimately, to purge weather
the terrible suns
in which, half-held
is the question to the answer.
What is not obvious, is.
So, where's the adhesiveness gone?
With mud and slake?
It was latent
but now annealled
in the open and eligible - again.
In this there's something of spring
white bud, dark branch
and the disregard above
of bird and windrush.
Jill Jones
11.30am, Surry Hills, 14 September 2005
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