Daylesford Weekend

for Erron and Karen

All the way up, at every corner
fat trunked trees whispered 'Skid in here, hit me'
people will say how the sun blinded you
or 'You were distracted by a spider'
and consider what it will mean
no more sweaty palms, no worries
about pensions, piles or osteoporosis
no more need to wipe your bum

but I arrive and the silence
wheels in from the hills like mist
I want to yell 'There is no answer
this bush, this mudbrick house
this feet up at the fire, this coffee
solves nothing, I remain stuck
in the square hole of myself'

and so I fidget, but slowly
the sky is sprinkled with stars
and the night then blossoms into morning
into another afternoon
and awkward hugs of farewell
and I have finally returned
to the stammering world of need, of people
of love.