you are
sharp boiled water bubbles
scrape and puff of smoke
char in the pan
burnt fingers on elements
kitchen table smash within my fist
neck click and bloodshot eye
I singe the steam of your smell

in the backyard I see
the rusted barbeque rest
in crosshatched shadows of dew
your red juices spread to my edges
exhales dampen my lungs placid
I touch the chill of your calm

at the letterbox you talk to Reason
the way summer footpaths listen to rain
your close breath now
a southerly moon wind
there is the shift of flax