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To hang on a wall of my empty room,

I think I will need a picture of rain.

Hitting the ground, and springing up to ankles,

Rain wets the socks and trousers from below.

My eyes chase along

Roof-edges, streets, sidewalks,

--tick, tick, tick--

Checking all, one by one,

To find a dark brolly,

And a woman in black enamel shoes,

Lightly treading the...

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The Eye of Morning

I am the arrow of dawn, and

rise as the archer kneels,

strains his bow, sets the sky ablaze,

dissolves at the borderland

between light and shade, Heaven

and Hell; his firebrands mere crass

cascades of incendiary petals,

guttering in chiaroscuro swells.

Behold the evanescent rose-glow

of morning's opening eye.

Chris Hubbard

Perth. 201...

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