In the beak
            Of the crow,
Something red.

    In the clothes basket
a cricket chirps:
            the heat of day.

Grandmother and child -
                both asleep:
the heat of day.

Smelling a pot of tea:
                 he goes to chat
    with his neighbour.

On the sign-post
    a headless magpie
        fleas itself.

Crossing the river,
           a butterfly
                overtakes our ferry.

Above the tree-line:
            a torquoise grasshopper
        atop a rock.

Dragon-fly alights:
    in the breeze
        the bamboo leaf moves.

The grey steel bridge -
      on its girders:
            rose-pink dawn.

Gulls sway in the wind:
     the ferry's wake,
        the emerald harbour.

In the silence
    left by the crow,
frogs croak.

Across a russet sky
darts
a black-shouldered kite.

The moon on the hill,
        woman humming in the shower,
frogs croaking.

Bending over beans -
                the sound of cat's claws
up a tree.

New Year:
         sunlight
   in a white room.

    First day of the year:
dad and daughter -
        first cuddle of the day.

Reaching up, up,
                    she demands:
"Moon!  Want it!  Hands!"

While explaining the first one:
    another one!
            Shooting stars.

Dawn across pearl-grey waves
                        and faint in the sand -
my moon-shadow.

         Wiping a tear from my eye,
I see, past these near trees,
          the first autumn mist.

In dawn's grey light,
                        the gulls are shadows
against the foam.

Currawong cries, cries;
        rain at the window:
autumn morning.

Into tea-tree forests
        the surf-mist drifts;
a fox's footprints.

    Breaths rise and fall,
rise and fall;
        rain on dockside waters.

            Coming home,
groping in the dark:
                the empty bed.

Dropped for a
        tiny red thing:  a teddy
hits the bathroom floor.

        As Confession ends,
a frog croaks
            in the drinking water.

    Winter twilight;
five ibises
        in a burnt field.

The long night:
                not even an insect
on the rice-paper lamp.

Cool harbour dawn:
        a jellyfish passes
a rubber glove.

Hastening
        from the library -
the full moon!

In starts and jerks,
    a cat crosses the yard:
the first raindrops.

At the bus-stop,
              dangling on a fence in the wind:
a walking-stick swings.

        The old man,
spitting,
        bends a little further.

Frost melting:
        on the pig's snuffler -
wet earth.

A horse farts
        a soft billowing cloud:
the frost whitens.

Whistling wings
        of the Bronze-wings
    whitens the frost.

Through the night,
        the clank of a disused windmill:
    cold blankets.

Footfall
            on withered leaves:
the crisp night.

Making my way
                over a dark paddock -
a falling star.

In the winter night:
a tattered Everlasting Daisy
           quivers.

        By a clear stream:
the curved neck
            of a dead crane.

Lovers in the park,
        the pigeons are cooing:
    Winter -  fading so soon?

Several choughs preening
                in a leafless tree -
the first day of Spring.

Spring Sunday morning:
        a priest parks
at the red curb.

Upon waking:
        the baby's first sights,
first smiles.

Through
            the spinning spokes
    a butterfly emerges.

        O snail,
after rain
          life is short.

Her dried skin and wrinkles,
     stopping to enjoy
           pink apple blossoms.