Some poems from Isolated States

FROM THE BORDERLANDS

The distant barking of the dogs of war
and the panicked laughter of children
all caught up in the autumn wind, with the leaves running
and the trees holding on,
and always the music hidden in the order of it all,
the condition of all things good, aspired to, met
in this now-ness of bone, fibre, pen,
a soft voice
saying at last,
peace.

The washing on the line flies a flight-path prearranged
swinging, unrhythmic,
disordered
tight-stretched against skies,
signalling save me! to the winds.

Sad dog on the lawn
waits for someone
yearns to speak
uses eye-language.
Moves an ear.
Hopes this is noticed, seen.

Clouds advance to night.
Evening would come soon.

While she waited,
she counted all the birds in the wires above,
and asked them if they were flying north?
Not today, they said.
Not today.

Birds fold their wings and shelter.
The wind’s gone quiet.
Far south, the stars in their patterned veil
sing the southern lights to sleep.

Somewhere, a child cries.

One by one the houses
and the streets light up,
a back window, a front porch.
Two dogs play chasings around a small rockery.
A boy bends over his guitar,
Why sad? He will not say.

No nightbirds sing,
no hadedas on their way to the lake.
Our urban skies at night
are vast and empty and quiet.