Ancient Snow Gum

If we could capture
a sacred slice of day;
The immutable way
of a camera

assembling
fleeting sensations of
migrant moments,
roving ceaselessly.

If the masterful mason could set
the clouds in stone.
If we could revisit
A stranger's dreams.

If the snap of a shutter
immortalised longing
and synapse ends could root
deep in the forest of unseen future.

If regret and hatred could
twist and knot forever
like an ancient snow gum in
the remorseful mists

We too could remain, strands of
silver woven
in the slumbering earth of
neglected pavements;
beyond the sky, but no -
the city stays
whilst we like leaves just blow
until our time to break apart
and nourish another life.