This is not the fruitless kind,
the rearranging of deck chairs
as the ship goes down…
This is their shortest stop,
a flourish, a visible high point
in the business of their life—
Branches sweep up and over,
leaves reveal their underside,
the whole garden leans, bows,
as if honouring some new truth.
A river will bite
at the bank that bars its way.
Backed up against the wall of itself…
Knowing that the anchor
was thrown too far from the boat
all that time ago
reunion can’t come soon enough.
Those first lines
now forgotten,
hidden in the blinding green,
lost in the flurry of life’s business…
In the end
the moment of change
is imperceptible.
and while I’ve been waiting
for the rain, anticipating
the return of the creek’s fine running
now it’s here I wish…
Change comes, sometimes,
like a slow dawn.
You shower, dress, and
make your way downstairs
to find the day has kicked off its boots…
Hope is there alright
but you have to let it;
you have to let hope
tip the scales…
It’s easy to love life
under blue sky,
arms thrown wide to the weather;
sun shining, highlighting
life’s soft curves….
No feather will fall in quite the same way;
not in this spot, from that height,
to be caught between two heads of rye…