Whether ear-wigor fleaor smallest spiderit has takentick-like to me.
she wanders round the farmpulling up bits of grass
No one knowsI love the belt.
laughingat all tonguesthat speakwithout a body.
I don’t have a motorbikeor a horse
And he did look handsomeread from the Song of Songs
My wedding hat sits on some drawers
The vine the woman gavefor our wedding
I can’t walk down the hallwaywithout he’ll hear me
The flower would be wiseto know the bee it knows
He’s making things whilein the kitchen I sewpieces of our life together
. . . he rows back to the boathouseagainst the tidehis face ginger . . .
we fished for perchwe fished for mullet
can I sleep near the door
and see them cuta wedge of green and red
out of sight even to the cowsI go ankledeep across the water
When very hotsnakes come to the tank
making level the stooks
and make the dust dance
Between two massive gumsa white bridge
