A steed	sculpted from driftwood

casts a	shadow, hurdles time, pegasus-like,

to the orchard of childhood, to	my father’s click
of tongue, slap of reins on draft-horse rump;

grip of sun-scoured hands

on shafts of plough;

a blade	churning loam

into worm-rich furrows:

clefts between lemons, loquats, figs;	
the glint of sweat; 																																																								 																						his off-key whistling; commands

of ‘get a move on’, ‘whoa’.
I sit with this memory,

ache to touch his face,

bridle the timbre of his voice.


Notes:

In response to Timber by Darcey Schouten, Perth Art Gallery until June 13th 2016.