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
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Worked in the Australian rock music industry as a journalist and published widely as a poet before moving to London and spending the better part of a decade in advertising agencies. Returned to Australia and tried teaching, primarily teaching English to non-English speaking, newly-arrived refugees but also briefly as a high school classroom teacher. Has travelled Western Europe, North Africa, Russia, Northern India, East Asia, coastal USA, some Pacific Islands, and Australia.
