there's small grass on the hill-side
and many abandoned orchards in the valley
the wake of time rolls out behind each traveller in an oily V.
Good morning, you're feeling full of advantages,
at speed, our wishes populate the echoing room
sunlight floods the market-place, for a while
but we actually live sometime in the near future
selfishly, which keeps being brought home to us -
slow code sounds through the concourse at night
representations are seductive, like tomorrow's interview
or a being from another orbit of existence, leaving us in peace.
There's also mist in the hawthorn hedges, now that you can see
the peninsula might be where you end up, like a jig-saw piece
over the Sympathy Hills, looking down on Impression Bay.