Cerulean Garden
As ghost gums breathe blue
delphiniums dance purple
the neighbour’s plum leaves
wave over the fence
as we unstack the old chairs
and sit beside beds
made ready for this new season
tucked inside the walls
of your cerulean dreams
as you pick me a spiky sprig
of sweet green remembrance.
Riding bicycles at midnight
down nardoo-covered hills
and you spinning almost as fast
in your steep high heels
to please your first love
even when he looked away
and crossing the same ocean
twenty-two sleepless times
yet never quite arriving.
Only here and now
in your painted garden
as the fading sun casts golden lines
to hook our last regrets
and the black flocks lilt above us
into the indigo night
lifting sadness away with the leaves
can peace come to us
not as a gift or a memory
not as an ocean or a prayer
but as a kind of readiness
to do what you will
in this life that is yours at last.
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