Fan-tailed, a brown cuckoo dove swoops
across the highway, settling on verge.
You could it take it as a sign there’s undercurrent
to asphalt, that it’s the world flowing
beneath us. A vinyl-clad demountable demurs
roadside. Blurred country flips through vignettes
seen or remembered: grass-trees that compete
with lantana clots rising like a bad dream
from the creek gully; gold mine shafts, caged over
on rain-shadowed hillside; the open cut mine –
its rail line that bridges the road ahead
& now the road behind.
Creek Gully Dreaming
1 May 2018