Writing in Whangarei

Still Lives

by Aaron Robertson

Paul had apples in Aix,
taking one each time the mountain
called as God-created
evidence of the volumes he sought.

Here, grapefruit rest
with yellowed limes, both
ready to assist in serving
liquid absolution.

We meet beyond the bowl,
on tablecloths composed in ample
folds and the angles they force
to stretch towards the frame.

From like disorder an ordering
is found, our compulsions fulfilled
for a light change by coloured
planes that modulate and fall.


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