The tethered mind
The mind prowls, tethered to its past.
An unknown unknown rises from
An unclaimed grave of awkward glances.
The waves come for the fallen swimmer
Again and again. They roll fast.
They suck his feet into the undertow.
A macadamia tree in a shadowed grove,
Where dreams were made,
Rots and blackens, drowned below
The lipping murk of Brisbane’s spill.
Something else happened there.
Something I cannot sit with.
Cannot say, not even now, not at all.
Only the leather, chafing my neck in thrall.
Jeff Rich
Image Source: MEE/Sebastian Castelier
