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Sport 39: 2011

The Seat of Oblivion

The Seat of Oblivion

I am standing on a shelf of cities,
wooden houses with steep lawns,
high valleys where uncles live
and great forests on their tiptoes.

I am standing here with rain birds,
non-events remembered, events forgotten,
partial sadness impinging on Pacific breezes.

Turncoat hope, tacked up in the hem of my skirt,
sometimes lifted over rivers that probably shouldn’t be crossed—
‘Come up further,’ you say,
‘Remember the summit of the Remarkables.’

I look down at mercurial beaches and lime-green tussock,
shifting outlines of reef and the land’s final ledge,
wanting just to lean here a while and try believing.