Houses and Happenings on Goulburn
Do not look for dust in sensitive spots
where sun tunnels left kisses
on wood, three stories up.
The bike in the doorway, ridden every day,
saw me shoeless in mud cakes
every mile peddled slowly against first gear.
Smoke rings pill the fog beside our windows
like chalk dust we'll rest our heads on street lights
to avoid the contagions of light and smog.
In chapel I kneel
having thought of thorns
furrowed too deep in temples.
The map of capillaries over brick face
chipped age won't see through
my corneal windows and sheets.
Throughout the day muffled screams kick down doorways
finding children's toys argued into the hall