There is one precious thing
thrown ahead of you before you know it,
ripening in the black cockatoo’s bark.
A long long tug rope extends into foggy imaginings
how you arrive so suddenly,
to jump out of birth and the step over inhale.
A little bumpy as the recoil witnesses
toddling scale to the first kiss grazed experiences scab over,
to reincarnate love from paper mache hearts.
Days hold years in passing months
stamp the ticket cut the corner out.
I dreamed this place of floating palisade
a conduce of nights embracing mauve ferries,
where landed pearls in shimmer tongue
speak of first steps and vanishing points.
Something for the Tasmanian Poetry Festival in 2015.
The poems were printed on cards and left in the rooms of the guests.
Lovely idea.
James Walton Poetry 