Horizon catches the cap of our neighbour’s fire
oiling gashes through wood
floorboards spiked with old plimsolls.
The deadliness is in the sunsink
behind the flames:
in things suspended there is so much space
quivering from absence into being.
Strange faith. I tap
your shoulder to make sure, test solid
amongst all the dusk cutting
mineral and the rock that never was.
The heat is more irreverent than we can be.
Lilac clamouring scent falls
a week from the tree after
the swell in the lawn mower
three blooms heat
gut the drains
under absurd rainfall and the lowness
All there is like sunset is gasoline
that fuels its burning from air
glistering, and hazy chokes on endings
that once drove to peel back the skyline
and now ignites itself. ■
Words by Eleanor Cousins Brown. Art by Natalie Hytiroglou.