By Mehrdad Mehrju
the thy day
speaks of leaving
an empty box
in the living the curtain draws the conversation
into eucalyptus shade
a shoe that isn’t
the thy day
the kookaburra outside the window
cackles with the dawn
and the koala still sleeps
in wonder
whose laughter awakened the light
mine or the world’s
and a light returns from the conscience
in the silent mirror of the table
beside the teacup
still tasting of someone’s breath
and unfinished warmth
