You take me along, Jill, on this early morning journey (interior & ex). I like the spacing, the breathing intended, the taking it all slowly in.
Multiple senses at work, working it all out. Including the various ecological losses implied hither & yon.
Doug
> On Apr 17, 2018, at 9:50 PM, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>
>
> HERE WE ARE
>
>
>
> thin silver wind in eucalypts
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> dust the precious drowsy sweetness
>
> yellow in open morning turn
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> to autumn magpie, kookaburra
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> corella, pigeon even in bird rage
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> for territory sweets in windowed air
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> every minute o that remarkable
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> what would nectar do o you angles
>
> of dawn, breasting dawn o seriously
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> feathers out there 150 million kilometres
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> of light o sunspot activity Asian cyclones
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> o melting Antarctica here we are
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> openings in sea fissures in the electric
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> the dream in wake on walls the big dance
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> shadow thick night sings bye-bye-bye
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> o breath, I and you breath then breathe
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> this shadow wake for the not numbed
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> o let me stretch forth for another
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> and it comes into me this day like
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> this day what’s not wrong is not wrong
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> and round the room high in the aerials
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> every digital wing what sing!
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> dream carcass empties sleepless empties
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> sorry worry empties here full
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> the blast of traffic into a space
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> o glittery space fleet thin silver
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> immense 150 million gold waving oxygen
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> to taste and to tempt
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> this kiss welcome here my skin
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> here my walk again here I am
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> a part and who is that flickering the door
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> parcels of dust and making footsteps
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> making more dust in every
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> clever molecule all the leaves are grey
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> so they shine
>
> ________________________
> Jill Jones
> www.jilljones.com.au
>
> Latest book: Brink, Five Islands Press
> http://fiveislandspress.com/catalogue/brink-jill-jones
>
>
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
https://eclecticruckus.wordpress.com/
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuations 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Listen. If (UofAPress):
There is no real
world, my friends.
Why not, then
let the stars
shine in our bones?
Robert Kroetsch
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