The building’s ungainly.
Glassed-in balconies bulge
     from dirt-coloured walls.
     Not tall, not squat,
it neither looms nor crouches.
It stands, seven levels,
     behind its frizzy hedge,
     its toothy gate. But I
don’t have to judge it
as I go along the path.
     I live within, in the space
     behind the windows
where breezes twirl through
and sunlight tangoes in.

From The emptied bridge
First published in LiNQ 42, January 2017

“the haiku poet …”

the haiku poet
broad feet
in delicate shoes

small white feather
facing the stratus sky
a beggar’s hand

spring in the Cultural Centre
lavender tangles
with banksia

in the city
no-one notices
the ten-metre wall

a spring seedling
three tiny leaves meet
an enormous shoe

wind blows out my candle
but not the one
on the banksia bush

at last a bird
comes close enough
to write about

From The emptied bridge
First published in Poetry Pacific, April 2016