The Journey Back

(i) Stopoff
This drop, once rain,
grows into what it holds —
curves towards sharpness,
trembles towards stillness.
So many imaginings
from such small slow drops! —
green fingers, amber phalli,
nose of ice-witch.
Under the neon glare, I long
for candlelight to infuse
this deep space, touch
each falsely translucent drop…
In warm dusk, rising winds
stir the leaves of eucalypts,
the first star seeps through
a cavern of sapphire-blue, glints.
(ii) Night Driving
Two speeding beams
inside night's enormity.
You concentrate, refusing
dreams, siren-fantasies,
holding this moment and
the completed journey
in one thought. You pass
salt lakes, marshlands,
the sea-line's whispering
crash. The wind ripples
hillsides, changing one
green to another — somewhere
out there, all around you.
Tyres on stones, headlamps
startling eyes drugged
by so much darkness.
It is as though you are
pulled by a thread over
hundreds of miles,
making your small mark
in the dust, in the dew,
going back to where,
using the car lights as
a torch, you will fumble
with keys, then re-enter
memories, absences,
giving thanks,
the house totally lit up
before dawn comes.