Robert Gray Poems
|1.||Byron Bay: Winter||12/20/2016|
|3.||Nine Bowls of Water||12/20/2016|
|4.||Flames and Dangling Wire||12/20/2016|
|5.||The Dying Light||12/20/2016|
|8.||A Bowl Of Pears||5/8/2012|
|10.||In Departing Light||5/8/2012|
She and I came wandering there through an empty park,
and we laid our hands on a stone parapet’s
fading life. Before us, across the oily, aubergine dark
of the harbour, we could make out yachts –
beneath an overcast sky, that was mauve underlit,
against a far shore of dark, crumbling bush.
Part of the city, to our left, was fruit shop bright.
After the summer day, a huge, moist hush.
The yachts were far across their empty fields of water.
One, at times, was gently rested like a quill.
They seemed to whisper, slipping amongst each other,