The mountains are special, people have learnt. So now people visit them accompanied with dynamite

you yourself love to pretend you remember your own birthplace

How can I call myself Australian

when I live on stolen land?

For once, I befriended the night's darkness and calm, realizing even the dark carries a light.

My mom slaps down some more dough in front of me. To eat, you must create.

Herring fish gather in the shallow stream behind the lake and through the trees.

The last move (the best move, the worst move, The Move) was almost four years ago

The stories they tell me spill out a feeling that the spider web defines perfectly.

We think it was a lit cigarette

flicked off the wrist of a driver, racing past

With plates of food in hand, you are forced to greet vaguely familiar faces.

The children call it "Reverend Father" because the flock of white feathers at its neck seems like the collar on a priest's black cloak. 

moonlight kisses the clouds. It rings, the moonlight, like church bells striking.

I knew Chinatown best on Saturdays, 

the November kind

Today, nature is fit in an open, square bus window with Mama obstructing the moving, alfresco greenery. 

Waterfalls of cream and white, 

with leafy laced foam

Soft sliding susurrations, light lift of page, 

A sigh, a huff, a breath, murmurs in the murky quiet

Why does the sky appear black from the airplane

even though its sweltering noon on the ground?

Jeepney Smoke seeps through the iron rail

to keep him bloodshot. He burrows in the neck