flood debris
a doll's limb
pale in the seaweed

starless night-
pier lights disappear
into surf noise

no money for the busker I try not to listen

scent
of old tea roses . . .
faraway moon

  after the parade
the dragon head off
  still smoking

on a bare twig rain beads what light there is

Anzac Day
a baby's cry fills
our minute's silence

hung over-
the red eye
of the traffic light

five years on
and still I haven't opened
mother's suitcases

swirling loops
in her letter
her voice

a sliver of moon
the old bluesman
breaks a string

across sun
shower light a reckless
flash of parrots

a quiet kind of love
                   autumn crocus

barbed wire
a magpie teases out
a strand of wool

afternoon beach
the young lovers cast
a single shadow

crematorium
early and late mourners
compare deaths

mangrove
a crab's pincer wedged
in tangled roots

at the car park
as we say goodbye
a swirl of old papers

passing traffic
the flicker of bees
among grevillea

shingle beach . . .
trying out its third couple
a dog lost at dusk

mosquito
a stranger's blood
on my hand

old wallpaper
my daughter reaches
for the butterfly

stonefish . . .
the more a thing is thought about
the further it recedes

one drop
from the heron's foot
splits open the sky

on the coffin lid
our faces
in the clouds

midday
the silence both sides of
a kookaburra's laugh

windy morning
my pavement shadow
has some crazy hair

dandelions
a field of wishes
blows away

fields of stubble
the sky thick
with stars

a clatter
of milking pails-
full winter moon

warmer days . . .
balloon-vine tendrils twist
between the floorboards