Last home

Vignettes of this place

flit past the window:

huge deciduous trees

look benignly

over emerald parks.

The brassy chords of summer

resolve to subtle rain

luminous grey skies

pianissimo in B flat major.

After a while

another tram will glide past

shrieking around corners

like an electric whale

seeking its pod.

Melburnians move

between circles,

dress in layers;

rendezvous under

the Flinders Street clocks.

When you do these things

here becomes home.

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