I will pass before the land-
before the city lines Woodstock’s paddocks
and granite-seeded trees withstand autumn.
before farmlands are sectioned off by structures,
tires gripping concrete backyards, thick wires,
tram-lines weaving through dog runs, smoke
radiating in opposition to air-

I won’t wait around for it;
a moment where reversal is transparent
and realized.

nineteen years I’ve waited,
waited for a lull, a lasting calm preceding
storm. each day it looms nearer,
creeping towards the blind property
as she sleeps, reflecting shade from her
centre.

Woodstock
Woodstock is decaying.

Woodstock
Woodstock is decaying.

all is beyond me now-
two decades of decay
will soon join the asphalt road to
Whittlesea.
I won’t see thirty years, twenty,
intervening before the changes;
passing beneath the grasses of
Donnybrook crushed
by new houses.
the world will be one city;
stone and glass.
skyscraper’s stirring the land,
winds rising in circles of smoke.
counterfeit livestock, lengths of land
full of all things man-made.

Woodstock
Woodstock is decaying.

Woodstock
Woodstock is-

 

Taken from my forthcoming collection ‘Rain Season’.

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