At Twilight, Waiting.

The bare fields
blush red
beneath twilight's veil
and wait for the dark arms
of night
to squeeze out their emptiness
and fill them with the
ink black echo of frogs.

When columns of moonlight
will penetrate
the ancient eucalypts
connecting one star freckled face
with one bearded by dry grass.

Now,
earth and sky,
holding each other at arms length
are dancing in the darkness.

Won't You Come With Me To The Fairground?

Your head will be spinning,
I said your head,
is your feet.

The End Of The Beginning.

A night cycle beneath bats;

that's the way
I end my New Year's Day

too tired to plan my path
I increase my ride by half
at least

in tired shoes
tired feet
still covered in last years dirt

pedal towards home
to shower
and wash off
last years hurt.