A hot gust in the millionaire’s wattle tree and what we need is a good dousing

Among the unbalances in her story, the lack of mention of her other life

Sarsaparilla mixed with coca cola and it tastes just like Bonnington’s Irish Moss

‘You’ve got it right’ she said, ‘staying in your marriage’ and it felt like a blow to the head

The shining of Ellesmere, the kingfisher in the mud-flats, the water cold and rolling

To drive there and back, slipping through the lush passes of the valleys

A winding glen, a curved knife, the defect of bent shoulders

In the absence of rain the child says ‘rain’ and now look, it’s started raining