The sky is a non-event. The last squall is a fading fingerprint

1. I stood to one side in a field, waiting.

There are only so many ways a boy
can save his mother and I know none.

After my mother passed away, freed from her suffering, the house
felt empty, and the sea, churning waves, glanced up to hill’s crest.
My brother tried to strangle me but a neighbour saw it happen.

Nightlights strobe through the window’s condensation, signals from anywhere, a stratosphere,

Art Gallery of New South Wales, May 2017 A man undressed, lying on his back, propped on pillows. His legs are open.

I Saw the Devil in the Cane Fields by Shastra Deo

Walking With Lucien Stryk by Anthony Lawrence

Quasimodo’s Lament by Judith Beveridge

‘Yorick’ by John Kinsella

autumn: after Rilke by Jonathan Dunk

Wild Horses by Jodie Hollander