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Sorting the Morning

by James Walton (follow)
I am waiting for day
here in the bed without you
spreadeagled on seconds
that take light years to arrive and depart.
Going over your letters and postcards
I wonder if love can be diminished in transit
so giddy I might lose myself
in the slippery travertine of words and images.
Iím volleyballing the moon
pretending to focus somehow resolute
if I look at the clock and an hour has passed
then I know Iím getting there.

courtesy friends of tarra bulga nationall park
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