distance
in my mother’s eyes . . .
again she roams
those wattle-scented hills
remote and untameable

in her favourite chair
she recalls the sound
of the stream
that shadow-filled gully
where the bellbirds toll

she rearranges
roses in a crystal vase
on the hallstand . . .
on the Melbourne train
she reinvents herself

cutting through
a web of shadows
I take
the valley road
back to childhood