A sky open and shut

            One day later on
a later day in the year
                        of some animal
            apposition on the globe and
            on the roof
            that is
            not just
                                    us, but still
                        warm tin, but sunlight only
                                    on Rucker’s Hill, seen
            by rolling onto our left
                                                            sides, optimistic
                                                and depressed
                        somehow cognate                                 on my birthday
                                                strangers grown up in
                                                neighbourhoods, comparable
            the veggies muting staggered
in shadow growths
            and the smell of that flower that opens all
            night, those nights that call us out, into the
            clement, changing open to walk,
            change touching
in our pockets
or to sit in
displayed enjoyment,
                                    euphemistic of each other
                        though obviously not of any beyond
                        say the river east where sky wipes
                        towards free night and the upfield line
                        west the sky over
                        the parkville youth centre

Sam Langer

Sam Langer was born in Melbourne but lives in Berlin. He edits Steamer and has published two chapbooks: Law You Can Eat (Munted Beyond Press) and Topaz (Bulky News Press).

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