Honey, you are more than sweet but

I have been in conflict over

Your goodness and my evil

Since fairytales died.

Desires make fables of my sleep

You rescue me still

But restlessness is slowly killing

This tree, dying where it stands

 

 

Bees caress Marrai’uo

Tuggerah gunya’marri blows in,

Muttering promises of warmth,

Of impending growth

The gardener’s hand is poised to prune.

Do You ever seek assent

From the languishing vine?

 

 

The winds have not yet passed

But yellow floss of wattles cakes the dirt

And now a new generation of flowers wakes,

Unexpected early blossoms

Tremble in the snow-winds

Shaking, humming with the force that

Splits imbricate fists into stars

Silent five-petaled witnesses

Life is bursting out of frost,

Buds on the old wood

Stubbornly portend the Spring.

 

 

I will wait with you for our harvest,

Not counting the good or the bad

Toes in the chilly earth

Until the wind shifts or I fall.