My first 'Nimbin' poem

The Tree Frog

The tree frog calls
Rain rattles on the roof
Softening the next door
TV news of teenage
Suicides.

The green tree frog recalls
Our brief age of seasons
The unions and the separations
That reasons can’t restore
Or fathom

We lay beneath our shared roof
And listened, dreaming
The damp crush of fallen leaves,
The quivering wetness
Of rain-struck flowers.

The tree frog senses
Through slick skin
The shift and slide of rain,
Clings and holds the slope of leaf
Against the flow to guttering.

Rain laves the eye
An open well
The tree frog calls. The rain
Runs down in twining braids.
I hear.

(I dream
the crush of fallen leaves
in hair,
and in your mouth
the quivering wetness
of rain struck flowers.)