He kept a fossilised shell
Plucked from highlands
Of Papua New Guinea
Proof of the flood, he mused
It remained on window sill
Overlooking rivulet
Tasmanian native garden
Decked with terracotta pot violets
Greeting me at the stairs
A huon pine drooped drearily
In the shade on the way
To wrought iron tables and chairs
I would finish the dishes from fossil shelled kitchen window
Spying the revelry outside
Before bringing tepid coffee from new machine 
At Christmas time
All the while forgetting 
To call my own family
A thousand miles away