Spooky day. Mist so low and custard thick
The river noiseless, a longboat prow
Could come across the veranda.
Cats have embraced all of yoga, curled
As mollusc shells where spines shouldn’t bend.
The orchard stripping crows are finally speechless,
Stooped in their overcoats, raggedly on guard
For something with the password.
The air’s gone tidal, receding to the call
Now of a forming universe in the melting:
A calf’s foghorn announces loss of presence,
Chickens rattle for release from the night keep.
Radio silence while this anabiotic lid
Occupies the space that was daylight saving.
- James Walton 2014
James Walton hails from South Gippsland and lives in the Strzelecki mountains. His work has appeared in: Eureka Street, Australian Love Poems - anthology, Daily Immanence - anthology, the Wonder Book of Poetry, and Australian Poetry. James decided to stop being a coward and quit work in January to concentrate on writing. He is now starving, but happy, and lives with a Noah's Ark of animals.