Bundaberg, Draft 1 (Poem)

Stale
your Bundaberg in the
Frigidaire
bubbling thoughts, the alchemy of
countries you hail
your own.

Soot
warmth rising in the city
now called home,
the lifetime and the moon,
collide so soon in
cold.

Seeds
descend in
winter, dead.
Birds careen in
fire, scorched.
Heart in chest shall strain again
to cultivate a gain
from loss.