Far From

  I was happy in crowds until I met you,
  man in nest above the Bullring,
  Lama praying in a cave,
  but now I want 
  my nearest neighbour
  ten miles away
  down a dirt track miles from town
  red gum flowering.
  
  I won’t care if my wall of quiet
  is fisted by the sound of
  an indeterminate engine
  because there will be one
  but it won’t get through
  and I won’t need to hide behind
  the slatted pine where
  passion fruit is dropped
  by a greedy parrot.
  
  For all they say
  I won’t be lonely
  in my life less shared,
  but invigorated
  not taking a shower
  and making up lies
  should a stranger appear
  and expect the door
  to be opened      It won’t be
  and when it turns chilly
  I am in my hut on McMurdo,
  gorging on the belly of a seal,
  no manners at all
  in this exquisite laboratory
  where the only chatter is mine
  thanking some god for the physics
  of hot buttered toast, a cup of tea.