Australian poetry

I breathe the leaves of the basil
It has news for me—
For all my senses

In back wards, sea spray thinning ash as the city
turned from itself, the ocean which brought it, faces off

Wake with a kiss on your lips.
The sun steps down through trees.
You sit in the corner of my eye
all morning, working on something.

Days later, not long after we left the convent,
the war ended. I promised to take her directly
to the train station, but the sight of her
on the back seat scrambling out of that uniform,