I would eat air
if I could

and become World’s Fattest Breatharian
in the Guinness Book of Records

I would gasp the heat of the sun
and gulp water from the clouds

I would swallow the scent of grass and geraniums
and drain sustenance from the skinny shadow
walking in front of me

I would cackle like gravel underfoot
and dive bomb the sky like a lunatic magpie

I would munch the heady aroma of horse-shit and coffee
in lung-fulls!

oh Air!
elate me!

inflate me!

First, jay comes.
A significant gesture
signifies two
twigs or wyes
in the form of twigs.

First, jay comes.
Takashi Homma blots
his copybook,
a blot with attendant dot
and dribble.

First, jay comes.
There is no other text,
but I recount
Gerhard Richter
in white and red.

First, jay comes.
Scrawl a flight
before a locust plague
of sticks: insects
are kept as pets.

First, jay comes.
A fire set
and flame hovering;
a fire set
from twigs growling.

First, jay comes.
There is blood
spat
on the snow,
covered by twigs.

First, jay comes.
Blood,
a thick rich line
through the snow—
a twig bisects.

First, jay comes.
Crosses in the snow—
twig drawn
calligraphy—
blood below.

First, jay comes.
Ah, the blood stains
pink the snow;
that heavy splotch
must mean . . .

First, jay comes.
Beside the frozen stream
and pipes of spring
blood splatter indicates
deceased.

after Takashi Homma

dawn is a promise
in the director’s eye

villagers cling
to the last breath of sleep
behind closed shutters——
mist rolls
over vines and olive groves
in the shadowed valleys

hunters rise early in the fall——
a single shot cracks the silence

the sun also rises

a cello/piano duet drifts
over the valley
music comes from an open door——
Anja holds the cello between her knees;
against a swollen belly
her moaning bow plies the strings

behind her, a dim figure
plays the piano

the dream of an unborn son

see
through the glass dimly
the pale lit sky
dissected by lines
of venetian blinds

stay
in the room darkly
shrouded in shadows
and the silence
of furrowed brows

search
for a breath etched sharply
across the blank page
of the future
in bed with the past

XIII
in one ear
and out the other —
the wind blows

A small book of hi-koo-ee, the second Ratas Edition, brought to you with the help of my friends Louise Jennison (thanks to Louise for the beautiful birds!) and Gracia Haby.

Available from their website and online store: http://gracialouise.bigcartel.com/product/publication-thirteen-seasons-in-one-day
and from Collected Works Bookshop, Level 1 Nicholas Building, 35-37 Swanston St, Melbourne, Vic 3000
phone: 03 9654 8873
http://collectedworks-poetryideas.blogspot.com/