(after the monoprint by Michael Donnelly)

Stars empty themselves –
no show tonight.

The Bowl opens its mouth
and your teeth shudder.

The ground contracts with cold:
you’re trembling.
Your head falls against the steel cables
the lights go off in Government house.

Far above you the Arts Centre spire
extends its white finger into the night:
gulls circle crying
holy holy holy

Down here
a Leunig festival of weeping
alone in the dark
while Government house is sleeping.

Stars get nailed to the night sky.

You take the silence
for an answer.

View this poem on The Disappearing »