First song
Familiar curves of the downhill road

home, bodies swaying in unison

with steep corners; the quickening
of movement inside: a great fish turns

and glides away, an allegro low in the torso.

On the lounge room floor, a rectangular
patch of streetlight, Friday night

sounds floating upwards, lightness

of a weekend descending.
Second song
Constant growl of an unseen ocean

in the background; in the foreground

a swelling belly, navel beginning
to protrude. Unable to stop stroking

this cocoon, almost coveting a home

like the grey fantail’s: a deep cup of green
moss and lichen, felted with spiders’

web and plant down, the most delicate

cradle for a featherless babe.
Third song
Overnight storm, the spotted gums

hoary with rain, muted greys

staining the pitted honeycomb rocks:
the world rolls and turns inward

where hard surfaces press out,

elbow joints sharpening, a shell-
like carapace inside moss-lined

softness. Smallness of stones stuck

fast in the smoothed-out cavities
of a shell’s twisted inner skeleton,

a trickle of water building into spume

that crashes against crimson cliffs.