from Maquettes for a Season of Fury

Dead Women in Old Stories

Above the hills a starry slate       the lights}
on the coast                       a necklace weight
              of faded-flower
moonlight suspends      the tides
the lap
& undertow abrading    salty folds
a sea bird’s skull             shells    silvered wood
underfoot           the stuff of frail
              philosophies       here is the heart love seared          
              in the haze before the hills             & spears
of cypress          dividing
              moonlight from the dark
how else to        assimilate            the amethyst fires
the women                        dancing in the groves
                              their cries
above the harbour           a deeper



Dispersal Patterns of Blood in Water

Lake       in late light         still surface
kimono                 settled shore-folds
yesterday              etherised              today
every dream        & then

                this deeper sleep
cured where        threads of blood
aimless endings

                scar shadow
                corpuscles unravelled
fed red                  
along the vein’s path
suicide                                 in Switzerland’s
a lifestyle choice                                 like smiley
bleached veneers                              
across the Alps                   rich soil
of dreams                             deep enough
for graves
for me   this lake                still centre

                boat oars knock 
clouds racing             repeated               across the lake face          
                                                       the blade’s weight
marking deep water                                               

red on black




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Staked staves
              circle huts            roofs
grass tiered
the women walk              bush walk            dust walk
dead heat kilometres
                              newborns buried first day
south Sudan three hundred midwives
              population five million
a girl sitting in red dirt shade                      miscarried
              this morning
                                              rises slowly
to tend her herd
              clean water          half a day’s walk
who grinds the grain
the hollow stones
                                              chaff in the wind




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