Once we seethed like hothouse flowers

Our bodies in dire need of ventilation

Life was little short of incendiary

No need for verbal communication

Love never runs a temperature for ever

A windchill factor is always lurking

When balmy seas turn to ice shelves

Before permafrost starts working

What started off as a slight head cold

Was soon a significant nip in 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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