misty market voices


The morning fog played at our feet

swirling softly, dulling voices

just like a mountain village street

Brisbane Markets shouting choices


“Bananas… Cav bananas here!”

but today his voice is swallowed

in padded walls of atmosphere

Low, heavy, carved out and hollowed


Then it lifted, it disappeared

Swiftly whisked by the waiting sun

like a silk table cloth is cleared

by the waiter’s hand on the run


The strains of change for every eye

if it paused, looking up to see

the vast blue wispy marbled sky

above the markets of Rocklea


Waiting for her


shivering desert sand
in the darkness
before sunrise
Waits for her

waiting is too much
It hurts to think of the warmth
not yet here

It hurts to feel the

l o n e l y   b r e e z e


it was better hours ago
when the sand knew
the waiting would be
lonely and quiet

but now

itching for touch
beneath it’s surface – itchy
without a fingernail to scratch

S h i v e r i n g

without a blanket to pull up
over it’s shoulders

and knowing
just beyond the

dark horizon
Her warmth
Her touch
so painful in his anxious thoughts
painful to want
To wait


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