suns
my fatheris still in
the househe built
with his wifethose hand
held walksafter work
from three suburbsaway, to plant
a gardenas the bricks
became walls& as the fruit
trees buddedwalls became
rooms, becamea life of oranges
as big as sunsheavy & ripe
just touchingan earth
that was forever
giftfor Br James Murray cfc
along the beachthe song
of a tidea wave
& then another& another
unwrappingthe day
at yesterday’s eulogythe Cathedral
bristled with tears
line
the shirt tailsof family
the threadsfrayed in the wind
semaphore back& forth
a lineof song
though a suburbof backyards
red gum
he hadalready
picked outthe tree
somethingsolid
a red gumon the side
of the roadinto town
or out ofdepending
on circumstances& patterns
a domestic veinor artery
to take bloodto or away
from the heartwhich stopped
beating whenhe crashed
slip
this heat in autumnrises off the walls
facing the Gulfflutters surrender
all the rag endsa sun cut in half
balances onthe horizon
Rory Harris is a poet and teacher. His poetry collections include Over the Outrow, From the Residence, Snapshots From a Moving Train, 16 poems, and Uncle Jack and Other Poems.