THE CLOCK TOWER

a silence
worth waiting for
bides in the clock tower
closed to public access

you go there
in your imagination
to find

snowflakes
a translucent face
the smell of cooking

you don't know if
the clock has stopped
or if the clock
will disappear

THE ROAD

late afternoon
cars pass in a flourish

a woman with two poodles
and a plastic bag
waits a long time
to cross the road

leaves, shards of glass
and feijoa skins
cover the floor
of the bus shelter

patterns below
reflections
silver on water

the sea rises up
balancing the long
walk down

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