In the slow orbit of wombats
my house hangs on to the hill,
the yellow frog flaunts the leaping crimson spinnaker of its jump
to the swallows’ rue at my reflective door,
white lightning shudders in lift off from another countdown.
Wind dies.
Apple blossom carries the love letter kiss of butterflies,
delivered in the slow somersault breeze
moon landing clumsy, on the creek now river.
Stars tumble into it, where the eyes of my people well at the eddy;
dreams caught wanting the release of gentle hands not fossicking.
Later, on the plain before Narrandera:
Sun and moon stare it out on the flat,
from moving windows, I make no ground in their yellow orange disregard. Rise and set, clocking on and off.
They know the contraband in my head is safe,
no small step can approach it.
First published in ‘Bukowski on Wry’, Silver Birch Press.
‘The Leviathan’s Apprentice’ Strzelecki’s Lover Press 2015.
‘Uncharted Constellations’ edited Logan&Logan Space Cat Press 2020.
James Walton Poetry 