The Blue Room
I sit on a warm stone step in a doorway
to the Blue Room, the Morning Room.
There is much bee-noise and the noise
of birds: the acoustics are fine in the Blue Room.
Usually it may have rained overnight
in the Blue Room: this clear aquarium air.
In the Blue Room there is always one dove
-hidden here, hidden here-
and many honeyeaters,
up for hours, loony as tunes.
Today the Blue Room is available.
I sit among ants, between bees,
amid designer vegetation:
in the Blue Room, the Morning Room,
the wide Waiting Room.
from New Selected Poems (Duffy & Snellgrove, Australia, 2001) and This Goes With That (Leviathan, UK, 2002 - further information from firstname.lastname@example.org), © Peter Goldsworthy 2001 and 2002, used by permission of the author and the publishers.