in which green grows

green morning thins to pale

a faint lime streak through

day’s climb

 

by noon I watch light

dissemble so that green

shakes loose of colour’s

bind and falls among

the starkness, emptied

 

before dusk green grows

a greenness of hues

a green canopy of solid

tone so vivid that orange

becomes the brightest

of garden stars

 

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in which a garden moves

and shifts in lightness, all leaves

criss-crossing like a zigzag of flare

sifting through bee hop and petal

flight. Circles of rain evaporate,

a waterfall of canna stripes

coloured with the confetti

of a flowering palm. Lorikeet

wings hover like an aerial

weather- vane spinning with fruit

 

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Towards March

Almost forgetting this shorter month

when days don’t quite reach their end

and thought flounders in hesitation

as stasis takes away planting minds.

 

Paths are blocked now for the green.

I duck thorns and branches growing

not randomly, for I feed and water.

Reaching for piano is also watering

 

March reminders, sound dropping

gravel in the humid haze of now.

There in the sun, how it was

then,  all was still

 

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