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Jabiru

A season can change you

Like a lost wallet

As you sit sipping wine

Drowning thoughts in sunsets.

A season is four things as are we

Dry or wet, hot or cold.

Sometimes all elements are grouped

In one day, in one room.

You follow a season like whales or birds

Heavy in thought, weightless in dreams.

Then you escape it.

Seeking peace in a crocodile's eye

Until it moves you - shit scared.

A season brings light then dark

Never at the same hour

Bewitching with subtle tones

Taunting with smiles then frowns.

A season is green, white, golden, ochre.

It changes, and changes us.

A season's tears invade the land

Then sunlight mocks our spirits.

Lightning strikes - a stock-whip sound

On a buffalo's black.

All hope is burnt, but we come alive.

The Jabiru flies.

 

Go to John B. Fairfax, AO's profile to read more poems