After Lunch

We’ve had our lunch –
prawns, Greek salad, fillet bake,
leftover Christmas cake.
We’ve sung our songs,
guitar’s been packed away,
it’s all been said.
The children and the horses
have made friends,
there’s no more bread.

But look –
last year’s bubble blowers
still have some soap!
A bubble fills with air,
floats across the fence
the children after it,
and all of us
out in the paddocks –
horses mystified, curious, wary
as children blow and wave
world on world –
horizon central,
sky below, trees
and grass above,
drifting windward, lasting,
lasting till they pop
or small boy leaps,
with sword-stick to extinguish
all that he can reach.

Some burst almost at birth;
some fly low, prey to chasing
child; others linger, floating wild
and high, to disappear
among the trees –
each holding its own perfect
sphere of glory.

More worlds unfurl
into the laughing air
and follow, fragile, fearless
their light,
translucent life.

February 2016