Grief is finding bits of Tim Tams in your bed

even though you haven’t slept there for two days.

I want to move to a place where they will laugh at my dingo accent.

Pine needles pressed to cold cheeks we have read too many picture books but

also not enough. Drive slowly tonight there is a lot of water on the road I’m not sure

there is such a thing as an afterlife. Knee-deep in wild grass we walk in each

other’s footsteps the place we are going is not far from here. Coffins

are much lighter than what you think. Falling in and out

of love is like breathing: you don’t notice it

until something goes horribly wrong.