You long for night to push away injunctions and sodalities,
sky’s hexagon clouds,
as veins lined with velvet straighten the road and undone casket
and morning’s birds click through dream.

Rest your eyes on the road like an inn,
bundled rubbish a corpse on the nature-strip.
You take the waters.
You embrace a door.
Snaked fields welter through molecules
as you burrow a dynamic exit.
Day tells you to circulate.
Royal blue flowers greet the neighbourhood’s ducks
and the palms-out front-yard grottoes,
but in the shells of Hades
or the mirrored corridors of Elysium
Castor and Pollux sing

Gig Ryan