Wednesday, April 16, 2008

night-time in sydney

The future often seems like the past, but it isn't.

I am leaving town soon.

Tonight at the rise of the hill, the black sweep of a bat, the skreek.

Now the wind is up, the chill is in.

I feel that my bones are made of sandstone and mildew, that Sydney feeling.

What will I make of the dry, and the desert?

All around me is transport: trains, planes, dogs out walking.

The past was never the future, something you can only earn.

What have you forgotten, now you are seated and staring at your hands?

1 comment:

chris said...

hi jill--