They drove head first
into the beautiful accident.

John Tranter, from “Love Story”

His fingers rest along the rim of night.

John Tranter, from “Guernica”

As much as I am able, I promise the rifles are rusting.

John Tranter, from “The Museum”

[Taped to the cockpit wall is a photograph,
a piece of Sunday afternoon,
a lawn, a bright dress, flowers.
Soon they will be flying over the mountains
in a halo of ice.] The cloud
hangs about, behind the imaginary trees.

John Tranter, The Plane

[On schedule, the weather grumbles and raves
westward over the suburbs. I’m happy.] I know
a little park where I can park the car,
sit on a wet bench, and watch the waves
fume in the amethyst air.

John Tranter, Storm over Sydney