The widest wide shot

The widest wide shot. Opens on the sick

bed

in my heart where you lie

convalescing in red.

The steam

your last breath

passing through blood, tissue:

psychedelic cross section.

Germs on agar.

Dylan fades in.

Then through the skin, POP! Into a room

where

an elderly couple

eat TV meals-

fish loaf enemies in slippers.

Optimistic boom mikes

nod languidly between.

Kitchen grease softly fogs the lens, where

we stand once more

on damp tar, fighting about wrist watches. You;

shouting that

to avoid skitsophrenia,

it is important to maintain

a linear conception of time

and attach all states of mind

to

the

personal

pronoun.

I; thinking about how

all those old movie stars were

supposed to glow.

Searching for your celluloid halo

in the Elvis Costello yellow light.

Shrinking fast as

apertures open all the way

along the suburban street.

A sudden and meaningful second

glance; a child playing

and, perched on a wire,

a teenage girl who looks

like you would have.

Bored.

Smoking.

Contemplating a life

of ugly firemen,

balding surgeons

and tardy lovers.

Then out again.

Framed ambivalence to potential

break downs, plot twists,

crime scenes,

first kisses,

frost on windows,

falling autumn leaves,

the psychosis of church bells,

analogies about fish or football,

knowledge of history,

architecture

or art.And further still:

Bridge and overpass,

city skyline,

dry fields,

canola,

cows,

1980's Fords

line dancing across the planes.

The farm where I was born

(Or somewhere just like it).The crumbling edge

of things.

The coast.

The waves.

Eyes in stirrups, expanding

horizons, expecting and otherwise.Until

the world is just a shape

and you

and I

not

even

specks.

Unsound-

tracked.

Unedited.

Locked in a frozen tango.

Lacking the holy continuity

of marker boards and out-takes.

Of key lines like;

'I do not know you tomorrow.'

Waiting forever for the lens

to time-lapse our lives.