carries my imagination on its spine,
on walkabout; JMV you dined
on experience, a patron then the chef,
your words cooking melodies even the deaf
would taste, the blind see,
this miasmatic outback, colours weaved
underfoot and overhead; trees of paradise
and the birds in boughs, bowing to sunrise
ascending like the koala in the final section,
her infant crying out through separation
by the innocence of the nudist children,
sweeping free through your land of eden,
apart from Housman’s farms and spires,
what blue remembered hills inspire.
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