on alleluia mornings. Choir stalls
kaleidoscoped by ]oseph-coated glass.

Buddhist coloured.
Lantern beams leak out through stable walls
and saffron-patch the winter-darkened grass.

swept by peppers
and greened by globes of foliage as they sway
like hairy emeralds pendent in the wind.

square where roofs were.
Bluestone coping stones enclosing grey,
wrecked rectangles that let September in.

from lamps on hands.
Aged five at oil-baized tables watching slow,
explaining hands unfolding tales again.

caught in water
where the creek has paused and rows of box trees grow
on down to sky-light pitted be the rain

remembered when
I handle baize or pepper leaves. Such lights
seemed stored in warmth that bluestone hoards away.

They part the dark
that inks-in niches in an inside night —
and carnival the day.

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