Brisbane

the geckos bark in the humidity

and

I think it is owls hooting

in

various darkened trees beyond this charcoal backyard

and over the path.

on this

hot

night I must not drink all the beer

or

eat all the ice cream.

a thousand deep lakes fall from the sky,

rivers growl.

Friday night at the Eastern Point

noises deep in the suburb of Byron Bay;

euphoric cries from a party beyond this street
but louder is the wind in the palms. 

sheer curtain against my open window bellows in and out
like a pair of empty lungs.
water of Belongil Creek pours into The Pacific with no hesitation,
no protest.
solid planets spin and orbit like a television on mute.

tonight I wish to leave no traces.

central coast

in this beach house perched on a cliff,

I am lucky

to

be here, the heavy ocean

and beaten sand fuming in slush,

the surfers bobbing

slowly

dying with the age of cliffs;

clean off, the endless sky sends a message,

gather your life.

the car park of wet morning gravel

enclosed by dunes

is witness to seagulls scavenging for the half eaten bakery items

of a bus load of Chinese tourists

up from Sydney.

and forget.