And the Humming Ebbs is a dusk poem, a painting of a city’s evening and people passing through places and days.
And the humming ebbs – dusk poem
Dusk, and the humming ebbs People homing, Sparrows heading Offshore. At the bar, after-work pints In the beer garden. On the veranda, He rocks her chair, she reads a line from An old book she’s read a thousand dawns When the chirping and the rev of the first bus Broke light sleep and the dew sweetened The scent of the grass. A boy and a girl play Hopscotch, Traffic and an old man can’t Cross the road. A seagull roves down Shop Street And lodges fronting the Treasure Chest Swagger on her webbed rubbery feet. They dull The colour of the paving stones. On her beak, The red dot, the knob her chicks peck When they are limp. But that was many dusks ago And wingspans across a bunch of oceans. But Distance is nothing, and still one hand in another More golden than gold itself. Inside the glass Teapot, the Chinese flower blossoms on a canvass of water on the boil, talk and no talk.