Pollock Holes
Eyes
Go down
Colour signals shifting sound
I
Could not feel prouder
Of you who I must pity now
The whistle signals moving ground
I'm on my way
My way is not to be found
My way is to be not found
My way's the weight of cloud
And my way is waiting now
Pine
Woods, remember?
Red-brick shelter in December
My memory visits when the weather's good
Shine
The light up higher now
Close my eyes and start the count
Blink and pollock holes surround
Echoes trapped as light inbound
I feel my way
My way is out of town
My way is closing down
My way is sharp and loud
Then quiet as a sleeping house
My way will wind its way around
My way will wind its way around
My way will wind its way around
Writer/s: Crook
