Returning to the old dirt road / Butterflies and Jellyfish

Wet posters peel from granite walls and flail in the gusting wind. Some flee the walls and land at my feet and on endless benches speckled with raindrops. Some have long fluttered to the ground not far away and begin to flake in the evening rain.

Mottled grey moths scatter the concrete floor near black wheelie bins, winded and blinded by the taxi rank light. Continue reading “Returning to the old dirt road / Butterflies and Jellyfish”

Mu Arae

Cervantes wears the same overcoat bejewelled entirely with shells of pocket mirrors. He’s sauntered far from the robots and into the late afternoon congestion. I refuse to see him. Not much has changed in the past four years of window-washing and handing out handwritten notes in exchange for small change. Little has changed, rooted to this junction, so the wear and tear and the hunching of his back over these years had happened unnoticed. Continue reading “Mu Arae”

Message to Beaufort Valley

I’m coming home
In my last squeezebox—
Drawn out.
Wrapped in a quiet song, beneath
A simple garland of China rose.
Meet with me at the marshalling yard
Before they place me on rusted rails to
Where we collected scars.
Joel, brother,
Before you lay me a bed of kites, and
Summon winds of our boyhood;
Before you fly me toward the sun till
I burn to stellar dust, do remember:
I love you.


The tide grows.

A charm of firefinches flies over the promontory, breaks open and tumbles on the wind like roller pigeons; retreats inland, fleeing the ribboning tongue of the sun setting in the ocean. I imagine it to be of fledgling Cape robin-chats. I see them peter out in the New World, piercing the horizon with the music of their fathers—gorging on the buttery glow, not knowing where it ends. Continue reading “Water”

Your Back Turned

You plant my tiny feet in a flowerbed white with clouds of lilies of the Nile. A gust of cold wind twirls dead leaves fallen off the master’s winter tree back onto the deck you had just swept clean. And, while cats skirt round the edge of the garden reluctant to wet their fur with morning dew, the sun gently plucks me from the cold horror of watching you waltz across the patio with your back turned. Continue reading “Your Back Turned”

Satchmo’s Moon River

She strummed
Ravines; weaved strings
Over a songless wreck.
Dream maker.
Still and all, toted
The depth of worlds;
Rasped riverbeds.
No time
To let me learn to swim.
Moon River,
You heartbreaker. 

*Moon River is a song by Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer. Originally sung by Audrey Hepburn in the 1961 film Breakfast at Tiffany’s. This poem contains lyrics of the song.