Local Antarctica
Shifting sheets of butterscotch sky
Became the night
We looked down on ocean lights
That sat like a lacquer on the tide
Of chandelier
Sunk down in the waters round our town
Lay down in Oliver's Hill
Above the boat lined roads
Rung with playing cards in spokes
We lit the grass and heard tales of letterbox thieves
Revenge writ in paperbark trees
We held like statues we hoped like kids
Of all the sweet things that we saw we did
Winding little lights round the backs of our heads
For following the driveway grass
Under stars of pale cold tin
One century passed
To leave only clues and hints of local Antarctica
Whole complete secret flowing inches from our feet
You'd tap the glass surface
Of the lake with your shoes
I know cause I sat and did it too
And though we said our promise was to leave
We talked like actors we spoke like kings
About the cheap things that we thought we did
Never letting on that the ringing for the end
Was in the doorbells of our friends.