When I talk about the

                                            heartbeat

I am talking about that rise        and fall

                                                          –        pregnant with wisdom        –
the crest and cavern

             that carries us, belonging

                          to the backbone

                                       that birthed us,

                                                    the river red gum

                                                                 sapped and scared

                                                                              where bark was stripped
to cradle

                                            salt        /        seed        /        snake        /

                                            found fruit    and other food,

                                                                    or water otherwise waded through

                                                                                                              at high tide.
It is the landscape library,

                                              or what to them

                                              is arid land,

                                                                  the terra that their cheek and tongue trip over,

                                                                  their nullius which is to us

our          sentient           second           skin,

                                                                              mapped

                                                                                             on fingertip

                                                                                                                   and carried by lip.