Three Catholic men breakfast at the cliff’s edge
Obeying eternal rhythm in the July sun
They sweep the canyon floor, slightly drunk
with nature’s joy – they’ve heard of a royal
child and they ask the moon to call its name
in an old-fashioned way. All they think of
is beans and eggs – a hopeless misfit on a
plate. They bid the stones to dance a royal
oak before the baby falls asleep. The white
twitter of the birds colours the sky in red
and blue until, light-headed, a lone fiddler
unhinges the silence in c-minor.
© Martha Landman
Martha Landman lives and writes in North Queensland, Australia. Her writing feeds off the news and a rich imagination.