Low ahead a beacon round
moon above the road
and dangled counterpoint behind
a bright planet keystones a pale arch,
trundles arriving light.
Centre piece above, the fading star-point
Southern Cross flanks two pointers
which bright-note the risen Christ.
I step back toward house and steaming mug
and my heart already plots
unworthy schemes of self interest.
So rich a fool.
A kookaburra scatters
sudden laughter from a near limb.