29 July, 2008

Desert Writings 5

Written at Davenport River:
We arrive, we ingest, we murmur, we move on.
Birds laugh about their own business above.
The sky sails on, up into noon and down.
The bed of the river, our bed,
is tracked and traced by bird and beast, big and small,
speckled all over before we ploughed through.


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