Poem Category: Australian

Farm drought
in the wrinkles tattooed
on both their faces.

Water lilies
a duck under their skirts
feeling for snails.

Edge of the cliff
no moonlight
to the touch of a web.

River crossing
still on the edge
the brumby’s nerves.

Hang glider
swirling out of the sun…
the child’s eyes follow.

The winds ruffle
a magpie gurgles
into her eggs.

Closing fog
the willow drips
sounds of the river.

Dining table
daggers of light
the silver moon.

Pointing up
she says shooting star
with a lisp.

Waterfall
the impulse to scrub
the sweat from my clothes.