half past believe
(i)
the exhibits of dreams sit
on the mantelpiece
next to the dead clock stuck on
half past believe and
one dried thorny devil with
permanent grin and
as you sleep the sleep of the
lonely clock hands bleed
and thorny devil winks and
pops the cork in the
bottle and with the blue-tac tongue
and absence of lips
eats the note and says she pre-
fers running writing to print
(ii)
you have interest only
in lingering in
that space between wake and sleep,
in licking spoonfuls
of treacle-like fall as the
anaesthetist says
count backwards, climbing that swing
and kicking out and
kicking in and kicking out
'til unhinged at the
tip of arc where gravity
is yet to be etched
by Einstein who winks and asks
'the weight of disbelieving?'
(iii)
but when the sea lets go of
you, when the scent of
brine and weed no longer owns
you, yes, then you rest,
forgotten beside a conch,
the pizzicatti
of rain on your skin, and wind
salves your fret, tides lick
your song as I crawl from the
conch and you blurt 'be
hides inside believe' and then
scrunch up the left side
of your face and I say 'here,
your first lesson in winking ...'
hopes
hope sits dolloped on hori-
zon. hope is found bleeding from
elbows. hope waits for sun on
the eyelids. hope is one let-
ter from open. hope glinting
through opaque stained glass. hope is
satin, is gloss finished. hope
flys above, ahead, beyond.
hope winks at you from shoppe win-
dow. hope beds with cocoons and
compasses. hope is one let-
ter from poem. hope orders
many, pecks at few. hope, and
I have this vision of doves
Kevin Gillam is a Western 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.