[The sun falling into the trees]

The sun falling into the trees I wanted to walk to means our lives double with meaning. Leaving

you in the opposite direction means taking the path of the sun. Looking back only once at the

top of your head, looking back once – only at your yellow hair flaming in the wind curling back.

[The perfect thing near its absence]

The perfect thing near its absence. As for all else: flies, dead leaves mixing among green, the

mint returning, the wet earth, the steaming spring –

that renewed fix you’ve tried once again dreamless swimmer

as each day your “derangements” sustain you.

[On the set of a feeling]

On the set of a feeling so overwhelming, so plowing midnight and noon, so upsetting the

surface of the sky in the water – drink quickly, drink heavily from the feeling of happiness where

you, old friend, wash your green eyes with night.

[Nothing is left of yesterday]

Nothing is left of yesterday as this new, richly-toned quadrangle of sun creeps across the floor

to drink a still sleeping shadow.

Nothing as I laugh with you, abandoning attachments. Nothing receiving nothing and

increasing. Let us renounce this misshapen, splintering self to inspire meaning with the incense

of decay.

[Every thought cast off in sleep]

Every thought cast off in sleep but dreams. Every love in all I do to think of you. Dreams

painted by disorder, cast in cerulean gloam and hands deep in our own damp hair.

What was pumping meaning? The rain,

the rain, the rain eaten up by the lake as though not saying so

to be no one severely –

as it aches, echos, returns.

Douglas Piccinnini is the author of the full-length collection Beautiful, Safe & Free (New Books, 2023) and the forthcoming chaplet Irwin Tiger (Creative Writing Dept.) Previous books include Blood Oboe (Omnidawn, 2015) and Story Book: a novella (The Cultural Society, 2015) and the long poem/chap A Western Sky (Greying Ghost, 2022).