In Memoriam

By | 1 May 2020

One by one they all leave us behind
Walking into surf or slipping through trees they leave us
On long slabs of bitumen who created this language – we survive.

It seemed fitting that he should go forever
As the world turned away from the heat, and the long burn
Of the roads he knew so lonely sent him up.

Grass lines the verges. In summer the birds came down to eat the seeds.
They bobbed and turned like clowns, raucous and ready to scatter
Should the mower trundle out to mark its tenor on the season.

A chill crept out amongst the scrub
and all the lorikeets shuffled and thought of flying.
Across the headlands and promontory spikes

A metal roof threw the light back into evening.
Somewhere an engine hummed, and cows
by the roadside sent out a rumour in low moan.

His was an old sunlight. The falling quiet over grass that bends
With wind tunnelled by magpies. Their ventures
Sought the limits of the season. We waited for the blade to start back up.

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