There are lakes which shelter sandstorms

and creeks which harbour dry land lizards

and butterflies attracted by redolent wild weeds

running with thirst down eucalyptus banks,


the salt shifting Murray

Lake George shimmering

sandy brown, windmills

turning dust over and over

and summer, cursing mosquito

bites and ross river moving south.


I sprinkle my plantlings as an offering

to sun for she has painted me

a meadow in this patch

far from waterland


Copyrighted by the author


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