On a horn by the bay where tankers park, pitch black on twinkling lines…

The lake was horizontal where we lived…

The fisherman who caught
the mermaid said,
she is beautiful
and, if she lives with me,
the world will say I am handsome…

Winter is a season of ice,

and I am not       stable,             unstable,

                 maybe

          never                        always

          was,

Eucalypti stand in rows
of leg and bushy haunch,
remains of fatted cattle ripped away…