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Peter Boyle

(1951 - / Melbourne / Australia)

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  • Rookie Carole Trickett (5/10/2014 4:21:00 PM)

    I have to think about your poem a lot. It is wild. Many of your images just pop out. I am thinking about the thread of the story.

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In The Small Hours

It’s three am in the morning
of a day you won’t enter for so many hours.
Where you are
yesterday’s sunlight still bathes your feet as you walk
and tonight hearing your voice
I worried that one day
I’ll lose my images of all those I love.
Outside the city’s still restless:
taxis alert and shiny as golden birds

[Hata Bildir]