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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
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