That green feeling

By | 15 September 2022

So many novels begin on staircases or in hallways.

The only light in the house through the Venusian greenglass above the landing
Oceans of dust and the thousand shadows of childhood
Converging on the woven runner on this black wood
The occasional chair gnarled into the roots of the house

Memory is just a landscape
This is a city of blind corners and declining platforms
Sandstone disappearing into a vale of leaves
Staircases down into the flood

In July a leadlight rose is
A sacred heart
A clot
A drunkard’s eye

In August –

The sensuality of movement is
Sitting on the station platform
Amongst puddles like upturned mirrors
The copper air

Between Newtown and Redfern
Through spinning bike spokes, the stillness
I take a window seat
To stare at my own reflection

Every edge is in the misaligned stitching
Of this green jumper’s sleeve
Pushing aside the branches that overgrow the footpath

Every edge
Three ghosts
A transparent sky
After a decade of rain

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