I'm listening to Leonard sing
– there are children in the
morning, they are leaning out for love -
while two children throw plastic
bread ties into the sea. I want
to get out of my car, tell them
to stop then remember as a kid
throwing stones into my local river
& where would these children
find a pebble here where the sea
laps against a solid wall of rock
our seas must be full of plastic
yet the gulls, the swans, the
gannets still thrive – perhaps
in lesser numbers – but then
the birds have migrated to the
cities too, 'its a cold & very
lonely halleluia' on those
country roads dominated by
logging trucks & petrol tankers
thrumming deep into the icy
night disturbing the sleep
of tiny creatures, leaving diesel
fumes coating the trees & nests
we reclaim the cities, plant
natives & exotics, birds
flourish in new numbers, imitate
our alarm clocks & telephones
accompany us into our houses
& the children lean that way
forever & I'll keep touching
your perfect body with my mind
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Station wagon swinging fluffy dice all the way from Grey Lynn to Dome Valley. Templar tea and oranges. Do you remember an inn, Miranda.
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