I had suitcases
filled with poems
hoping to change the
shape of liberty bludgeoned
...
a frosted summer
your moonbeam
feverish smile
entraps me in
...
"I'm waiting at the door
with the dying roses
singing, 'If I
could turn back time'
...
A woman is dancing, bathing in
blue roses, she is whimsical,
greater than any day, beauty
coursing through her veins
...
I remember Gilgandra
air, and Dubbo moonlight
glazed by Mutawintji
sights
...