Jazz Sparks outlasting the fire, musicburns the ceiling – a person couldshout for help, not wantingto be heard, or whisper a truthin some unknown ear: this flammable sound would hail himcarelessly as a liar. The crisp crowdunderstands there is no needfor risks, no unquenchable pyre,here in the deep blood’s casualness; no need for the nag of redemptionwhere meaning is pulse, a teeteringjoy so easily digested, lifesuch vulnerable, soaring breathing. Only the fire brigade of silencetames these curlicues of heat,abashed stranger holding strangerin wild furnace of this beat.
Japanese Garden To harmonise with, or toimprove upon? The gardenerborrows the surroundinghills, arranges stones arounda patch of sky – or a miniature mountainmight thrust from somebackyard, its silky grasshand-trimmed. Rocks themselves can beunruly, and must be brushed,unadorned. A hundredclans of moss might flourishbeneath the maple leaf(A deeper red last year, saysan expert on autumn). Even the pines are protectedfrom snow, outcropsjoined in marriage, a solemnfestival for each flower, azaleaor camellia or dancing iris. Meudon It is mist that moves herecloaking statuesmild giants that hauntand wait that have grown herebrought into beingby nothing largerthan a man’s hands. Naked as windthe slave breathes towardhis freedom. Morning has begunedging whitearound the blackand tangled trees here and thereburgundy leavesstuck on damp stone and though no-oneis with youit somehow seemsthat you are not alone.
Shane McCauley is a Perth poet. His published poetry collections include The Chinese Feast, Deep-Sea Diver and The Butterfly Man.