Waiting here at Glenroy Crossing
As three road-trains rattle on through
All while sitting on the causeway’s kerb
Time has no place amongst these words.
Slow a bitter wind wakes up to rise, to shout aloud
Sweeping cold past her face, without a sideways glance
Nothing left to do but walk, from one side to another
Beneath these stark grey clouds, ones that lack her lover.
In this no rain, just cold in a silent moment
Sitting on her dirtbike, eyes scanning for why
One last time, one last look not to find
A voice last heard, but three days ago.