Sitting. I am sitting on a red couch
with cold legs & inside my knees will be
bones who I will whack the edges off.
Inside the red couch will be a world of
dust particles I will hit into the sun
& think people live in that – those worlds
of dust flecks.
Beside me will be a deck which has not yet
been built that I will fall off & drop onto rock
& a hill & roll towards a neighbour doctor
& through a wall I will walk when a ranchslider has
been built & slip through that too –
costing an insurance excess for my parents & fragments.
& beside all of those things that can't be seen fully
will be the black & white of a leggy dog Tex.
Who I will find hanging from his blue lead
in the garden at the end of a lengthy path
Near – next to & by
a decreasing yellow of buttercups.
Where I will pull up on the kind of day
That has been fitted into DNA –
& I will watch with my 4 children
what I already knew.