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~: POETRY / MODERN :~

 player by Irene Wilkie
A backdrop hangs in shades of mist.
Each distance is a cardboard theatre scene
of mountains, steaming bluffs,
and in the foreground, you,
the player walk a stage through the rain.
You need no audience
except perhaps a hazy god
and you want escape,
the secret scripts,
the creeks in conversation with the crane.
The leaves you tread smell silent,
of creeping mould.
You discover balance life eating death
and you, if you stay, you.
Light sifts wet through the canopy.
You hear parrots clack outside the dome
and you reach for them, clutching.
You are back on stage,
people watching.
You wave, you bow,
you climb up in the wings.
You look down
at ants.
This poem is excerpted from Irene's debut publication, Love and Galactic Spiders, available now through Ginninderra press.
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