hopes
hope isn't blue or loose or lost.hope is full.hope isn't tearful or funnyor berserk.hope is cumulus and shag pile.hope isn'tmood or diameter or pinned.hope is hinge
hope is noteand bottle and flotsam and found.hope isn'tpulpit or coal fired or concave.hope is spinifex and singing.hope is rain
the jetty of you
if you were to lie here long enough,let the moon do its work,let tide and salt and wind lick your stories,gulls thieve your last commas,just you then, the full stops, the very stumpsof the jetty of you
if you were to do the forgetting,allow the sky to scrawlin cirrus the shaded angst of you,just you then, taut and wispedand stretching, all join the dots on blue
if you were, this last time,to lose North and gravity and being,just you then, yes, just you
six black holes
I hum. I talk aloud tomyself. I cease insix black holes of déjà-vu.
I sing. I push thequick off the moon. I wake insleep. I tongue but you
before the fall
before the fall of thinking,before rain,before the song of wet earth,low white noise.hear it as the chant ofthe unseens —ripple in a magpie's throat —as the sighof a city's prayer cushions —forgivenesshas the weight of faith and cloud.and then rain,symphonic on tin, washingwalls of doubt
Kevin Gillam is a West Australian writer with work published in numerous Australian and overseas journals. His two published books of poetry are Other Gravities (2003) and Permitted To Fall (2007), both by SunLine Press.