For JF
as well as can be

             calendars remind us of contract-

             negotiated days, time in lieu of

             time. on your morning walk you

             flinch when a runner passes, swift

             second breath in the shock of cold.
a strange and challenging year

             do less with more. do more with

             more. do less with less. do more

             with less. with less do more. with

             more do more. with less do less.

             with more do and do and do and do.
running by the house

             footprints become quote marks

             reminding you of an ironic dist-

             ance between self and world.

             many rooms, many rooms; are

             we allowed to head for home?
who’s counting?

             the numbers only work for

             those in control: hours saved,

             positions removed (never re-

             membering the time spent

             putting on the data-driven coat).
walking the hill

             our paths cross in theory, your

             photos trying to grab the words

             that spilled from my head hours

             ago, my poems attaching to scenes

             that have not been developed yet.
a darker turn

             predawn sky like a locked phone-

             screen. halfway up beauty point ave-

             nue the airways constrict, forcing you

             to stop. still, there are planes flying

             overhead, holding everything together.
leaning into this new direction

             see, I am doing a new thing! I am

             changing playlists, I am updating

             the operating system, I am taking

             up exercise and k-pop fandom in

             non-ironic ways [insert applause].
something living in a notebook

             that’s a poem or at least part of

             a poem. or perhaps the offcuts

             of a poem. who knows until

             the thing actually writes itself? so

             keep walking, moving, ma(s)king…   
add to the images

             the burned-out car atop willans hill

             testifies to a sacred immolation. stolen

             bike cast into stolen scrub. two roos sur-

             prised by footfall and appearance. below,

             industry illumines industry over and over. 
the same paths

             …nearby couches risk exposure, cast off

             or positioned. when you run the same route

             you can only see the same things. at least,

             that’s what some change-managed moment

             declares to a treeline that shivers in the wind.
never meet

             you are almost present, the after-effect

             of a long exposure. dawn’s darkroom

             bringing focus slowly at first, then all

             at once. lorikeets shriek and shoot

             through these accidents and shadows.
between images and text

             sunrise pictograph, lawnmown riv-

             erina firmament. there is no language

             for what the crunch of frost gifts you

              (crisp imitation of an urtext disturbance,

             margins dark with the traces of failure)
associations and departures

             regionally-engaged thinktank agri-

             business community entrepreneurial

             health-related local area startup con-

             sultancy success story: eucalypt leaf

             turned sideways, creek bed dry and silent.
take your time

             I attempt to divide a day into quarter

             hour segments but soon give up when

             magpies crowd consciousness and morn-

             ing fog refuses to lift. a voice calls across

             the billable-billabong, ghost on unseen shore.
everything that is happening

             night audits day at dawn, then again

             at dusk; management consultants get

             you both ways. crows arrive and pick

             over a wombat, dense with fur and car-

             stopped dignity (in the black/ in the red).
no rush

             the kelpie runs from her owner but

             returns when called. this mistbreath

             and earnestness becomes you: learnt

             fervour vs inbuilt restraint, more tiny

             reminders of grace reversing the darkness.
find the time

             lost, lost, forever lost! I forgot to press

             the workout button so these steps aren’t

             even being recorded. What’s the point

             when a heartrate can’t be monitored?

             just take the hard path and don’t ever stop.  
take care

             birdsong on the hill, waiting music on

             the employee assistance line, sessional

             directives on looking after one another, sky

             fracturing into outsourced mini-dominions.

             grab a heel, james, we may soon be lifting off…