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Moon Dreaming

Patrick McCauley

May 01 2013

1 mins

Moon Dreaming

In the mountains where the Otways

run into the ocean at Apollo Bay,

the big blackwoods

pull the fog down around their shoulders.

They arrange the mist as if it were

a white woolly crocheted shawl.

I am planting trees slowly on the steep slope.

My daughter drops off the pills

that kept her asleep for a year.

We hibernated beneath

the cold ice of consciousness.

How have I been driven

from the company of beautiful women?

I take lungfuls of eucalypt oxygen

infusing my heaving frame

with a fecund blue perfume.

Late at night after work

I get lost in the dark

starless sky

in the huge flat endless beach

walking toward the moon.

Patrick McCauley

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