around these clay creased basins
trees lie white & weathered
alive they roar like surf
& in the hearth crackle
moths strike against the window
my glass is empty
but I cannot get up
& disturb your soliloquy
merino hoggets skip over the hill after shearing
we leant on the rail
your hand bag dangling
men waved from the wharf
where you mused staring at water
that sad bright eyed woman
& onion flowers
we parted & I had talked too much
& hardly held your hand
for fear the butterfly
might emerge too soon
falling in flight
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