Elly McDonald


Opaque (1984)

Leave a comment

his hands

watch his hands, then

his eyes – a wordless

question, a clue

in the distances: relativity

him to me

from here to … where?

a merging of neutrals, non-colours

of winter: soft duns, muted bone

sparrows on concrete, dirt-naked

trees against the sky

us against ourselves

shades of the dead: the dull, the defeated

all things blurred, a blinded sun

pale, white on grey

earth beneath leaves

brittle, fallen

crushed underfoot

Author: Elly McDonald

Australian-born, with English mother, has lived in several Australian cities and in London. Travelled widely. Way way back when, published widely as a poet and short story writer.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s