A poet he wrote me. Ian Gibbins

The Fugitive Text

“... the fugitive text ... about to blow off the page ...”
Peter Maloney, Canberra, 2013.  

Of course, it cannot be, unless
Sydney skies rain with turpentine,
wash away figure and ground,
betray another boy’s identity, naked
in his mother’s glass-rimmed tears,
or the tip of my pen entwines
the arms of some distant galaxy,
transcribes the veins that flow
with alien abstraction, until
the bell-toll in my ears subsides
and, once again, the voices I inhabit
illuminate these wind-spun points,
this fleet ascendency of recognition.
march 2013