Poetry

Postcard from Australia (Speaking of the Same Landscape)

You say that to love me is to be consumed

unwisely by these red-blooded forests

of shadow and dancing silhouettes

that loom over to shield

the deception

of the strange Southern stars above, 

or the last crimson breaths of a vanished sun

But I say these are the dark folds

of fertile groves and jagged treetops

obscure and silent in the dark,

but now, with the verge of day, not of night,

are lit with the final apparition of austral stars,

are smoothed and flamed

by crowns of strawberry mist

that both shroud and show

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