Couple of days before the full moon
After the Winter Solstice,
Last one this millenium
Tides rising
As drying waters sink.
So what’s the story.
I sit here
Where Jabiru’s waters fail to flow
Lake, croc-filled parable on
A politics local in its application
But all-earth in its progression
Pangaean Babylon mining-style.
Resist and get your fucking leg bitten off.
Across there, trees bliss back birds’ cry
Tall, and water’s echo, slight shimmer
Flects the way evening’s cool calm
Softens desire’s agony
If you’ve only really got a year.
Which now, today, the Mirrar may have
As Mirrar as opposed to as not much at all.
After how many thousand.
But let’s not get sentimental.
Moon’s there, in pale evening,
This gorgeous washed out blue
The blue of really-tired,
Soapy, in which geese hang,
Blacked-necked gliding to slide
Through brief furrows, ripples’ parting.
Jabiru; late June 1999