Multilingual birds sing
over dry leaf maracas
on a sunburnt land. See them
bad-bugger Brahmin bulls at it –
dry creek, no tucker.
Red cloud rises
but no stockmen see. They’re
in Derby on the piss. Home alone,
law lady Maudie lies in bed, Gnarnygin
stories in her head: After the mob left
Wandjina came and turned that snake
into stone. I leave my desk
to walk and think.
The Kimberley text
is in shadow play, today:
outcrop and gorge, red dirt polyglossia
of crow claw, roo paw and grader wheels.
Signs and the dignified signified
clear in my head to sing
the thisness of all things
No comments:
Post a Comment