Rod Moran: ‘Wrens’ and ‘Lemon’

Wrens
(For Luke)

A relief against
The heat-hammered afternoon:
A wren blue as ice.

Those sequins of sky
Scattered around the hay stooks:
Iridescent wrens.

Avian optics:
A kaleidoscope of wrens—
Noon through a blue lens.

Rod Moran

The Lemon Tree
(For Lynette)

The lemon tree in our garden
Glistens golden-green after rain.
Its roots are deep beneath our home,
Siting our life within its frame.

Lemon-wood scent colours the air,
The perfume pervades like a balm.
A rain-front thunders through again.
The garden then resumes its calm.

Our daughter plays beneath the tree,
Gathers the golden fallen fruit,
(Honeyeaters plunder the buds),
Gifting to us her shining loot.

The tree is like an offering,
Our daughter clambers through its light.
There’s citrus cologne in her hair
When we kiss her to say goodnight.

The lemon tree is a jewel,
Luminous in the morning dew.
It’s like a poem telling us
We have found something deep and true.

Rod Moran